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WOODCRAFT 


BX 


a 


NESSMUK" 


FOURTEENTH  EDITION 


NEW  YORK: 
FOREST  AND  STREAM  PUBLISHING  CO. 

1920 


Copyright 
Forest  and  Stream   Publishing  Co. 
1920 


SRLF 
URL 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I 1 

Overwork  aud  Recreation. — Outing  and  Out- 
ers.— How  to  Do  It,  and  Why  They  Miss 
It. 

CHAPTER  II. 8 

Knapsack,  Hatchet,  Knives,  Tinware,  Rods, 
Fishing  Tackle,  Ditty-Bag. 

CHAPTER   III.  -  -  -  -  -       18 

Getting    Lost. — Camping    Out. — Roughing    It 
or    Smoothing    It. — Insects. — Camps,    And 
How  to  Make  Them. 
CHAPTER  IV.  .....      40 

Camp-Fires      and      Their      Importance. — The 
Wasteful,   Wrong   Way   They  Are   Usually 
Made,  and  the  Right  Way  to  Make  Them. 
CHAPTER   V.  .....       50 

Fishing,  With  and  Without  Flies. — Some 
Tackle  and  Lures. — Discursive  Remarks 
on  the  Gentle  Art. — The  Headlight. — 
Frogging. 

CHAPTER  VI.  -----       71 

Camp    Cooking. — How    It    Is    Usually    Done, 
With  a  Few  Simple  Hints  on  Plain  Cook- 
ing.— Cooking  Fire  and  Out-Door  Range. 
CHAPTER  VII.  -  -  -  -  -      91 

More  Hints  on  Cooking,  with  Some  Simple 
Recipes.  —  Bread,  Coffee,  Soup,  Stews, 
Beans,  Potatoes,  Fish,  Vegetables,  Veni- 
son. 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  VIII.  -  -  -  -  -     113 

A  Ten  Days'  Trip  in  the  Wilderness. — Go- 
ing It  Alone. 

CHAPTER  IX.  -  -  -  -  -     128 

The  Light  Canoe  and  Double-Blade. — Vari- 
ous Canoes  for  Various  Canoeists. — Rea- 
sons for  Preferring  the  Clinker-Built 
Cedar. 

CHAPTER   X. 139 

Odds  and  Ends. — Where  to  go  for  an  Out- 
ing.— Why  a  Clinker? — Boughs  and 
Browse. — Suggestions. — Good  Night. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Knapsack   and   Ditty-Bag 9 

Hatchet   and    Knives 11 

Indian   Camp 27 

Shanty-Tent  and   Camp-Fire           ....  35 

Shanty-Tent  Spread  Out 37 

Camp-Fire  as  it  Should  he  Made  47 

Frog  Bait 59 

Three-Hook    Gangs 59 

G.  W.  Hatchet 83 

Out-Door   Cooking    Range 85 


PREFACE 


UTT700DCRAFT"  is  dedicated  to  the  Grand  Army 
of  "Outers,"  as  a  pocket  volume  of  reference 
on — woodcraft. 


For  brick  and  mortar  breed  filth  and  crime, 
With  a  pulse  of  evil  that  throbs  and  beats; 

And  men  are  withered  before  their  prime 
By  the  curse  paved  in  with  the  lanes  and  streets. 

And  lungs  are  poisoned  and  shoulders  bowed, 
In  the  smothering  reek  of  mill  and  mine; 

And  death  stalks  in  on  the  struggling  crowd — 
But  he  shuns  the  shadow  of  oak  and  pine. 

NESSMUK. 


WOODCRAFT 


CHAPTER  I. 

OVERWORK    AND    RECREATION. OUTING    AND    OUTERS. 

TO  DO  IT,  AND  WHY  THEY  MISS  IT. 


HOW 


■jT  DOES  not  need  that  Herbert  Spencer 
should  cross  the  ocean  to  tell  us  that 
we  are  an  over-worked  nation;  that 
our  hair  turns  gray  teu  years  earlier 
than  the  Englishman's;  or,  "that  we 
have  had  somewhat  too  much  of  the 
gospel  of  work,"  and,  "it  is  time  to 
preach  the  gospel  of  relaxation." 
It  is  all  true.  But  we  work  harder, 
accomplish  more  in  a  given  time,  and 
last  quite  as  long  as  slower  races.  As  to  the  gray 
hair — perhaps  gray  hair  is  better  than  noue;  and 
it  is  a  fact  that  the  average  Briton  becomes  bald 
as  early  as  the  American  turns  gray.  There  is, 
however,  a  sad  significance  in  his  words  when  he  says: 
"In  every  circle  I  have  met  men  who  had  themselves 
suffered  from  nervous  collapse  due  to  stress  of  busi- 
ness,  or  named   friends  who   had  either  killed  them- 


(1  ) 


2  WOODCRAFT 

selves  by  overwork,  or  had  been  permanently  incapa- 
citated, or  had  wasted  long  periods  in  endeavors  to 
akin  to  paralysis — from  which  the  sufferer  seldom 
recover  health."  Too  true.  And  it  is  the  constant 
strain,  without  let-up  or  relaxation,  that,  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten,  snaps  the  cord  and  ends  in  what 
the  doctors  call  "  nervous  prostration " — something 
wholly  recovers. 

Mr.  Spencer  quotes  that  quaint  old  chronicler, 
Froissart,  as  saying,  "The  English  take  their  pleas- 
ures sadly,  after  their  fashion;"  and  thinks  if  he 
lived  now,  he  would  say  of  Americans,  "they  take 
their  pleasures  hurriedly,  after  their  fashion." 
Perhaps. 

It  is  an  age  of  hurry  and  worry.  Anything  slower 
than  steam  is  apt  to  "get  left."  Fortunes  are  quickly 
made  and  freely  spent.  Nearly  all  busy,  hard-worked 
Americans  have  an  intuitive  sense  of  the  need  that 
exists  for  at  least  one  period  of  rest  and  relaxation 
during  each  year,  and  all — or  nearly  all — are  willing 
to  pay  liberally,  too  liberally  in  fact,  for  anything 
that  conduces  to  rest,  recreation  and  sport.  I  am 
sorry  to  say  that  we  mostly  get  swindled.  As  an 
average,  the  summer  outer  who  goes  to  forest,  lake 
or  stream  for  health  and  sport,  gets  about  ten  cents' 
worth  for  a  dollar  of  outlay.  A  majority  will  admit — 
to  themselves  at  least — that  after  a  month's  vaca- 
tion, they  return  to  work  with  an  inward  conscious- 
ness of  being  somewhat  disappointed — and  beaten. 
We  are  free  with  our  money  when  we  have  it.  We 
are  known  throughout  the  civilized  world  for  our 
lavishness  in  paying  for  our  pleasures;  but  it  humili- 
ates  us  to  know   we  have  been   beaten,   and   this   is 


OUTERS  3 

what  the  most  of  us  know  at  the  end  of  a  summer 
vacation.  To  the  man  of  millions  it  makes  little  dif- 
ference. He  is  able  to  pay  liberally  for  boats,  buck- 
boards  and  "body  service,"  if  he  chooses  to  spend  a 
summer  in  the  North  Woods.  He  has  no  need  to 
study  the  questions  of  lightness  and  economy  in  a 
forest  and  stream  outing.  Let  his  guides  take  care 
of  him;  and  unto  them  and  the  landlords  he  will  give 
freely  of  his  substance. 

I  do  not  write  for  him,  and  can  do  him  little  good. 
But  there  are  hundred  of  thousands  of  practical, 
useful  men,  many  of  them  far  from  being  rich; 
mechanics,  artists,  writers,  merchants,  clerks,  busi- 
ness men — workers,  so  to  speak — who  sorely  need 
and  well  deserve  a  season  of  rest  and  relaxation 
at  least  once  a  year.  To  these,  and  for  these,  I 
write. 

Perhaps  more  than  fifty  years  of  devotion  to 
"  woodcraft "  may  enable  me  to  •  give  a  few  useful 
hints  and  suggestions  to  those  whose  dreams,  during 
the  close  season  of  work,  are  of  camp-life  by  flood, 
field  and  forest. 

I  have  found  that  nearly  all  who  have  a  real  love 
of  nature  and  out-of-door  camp-life,  spend  a  good 
deal  of  time  and  talk  in  planning  future  trips,  or 
discussing  the  trips  and  pleasures  gone  by,  but  still 
dear  to  memory. 

When  the  mountain  streams  are  frozen  and  the  Nor'land 
winds  are  out; 

when  the  winter  winds  are  drifting  the  bitter  sleet 
and  snow;  when  winter  rains  are  making  out-of-door 
life    unendurable;      when    season,    weather    and    law, 


4  WOODCRAFT 

combine  to  make  it  "close  time"  for  beast,  bird  and 
man,  it  is  well  that  a  few  congenial  spirits  should,  at 
some  favorite  trysting  place,  gather  around  the  glow- 
ing stove  and  exchange  yarns,  opinions  and  experi- 
ences. Perhaps  no  two  will  exactly  agree  on  the  best 
ground  for  an  outing,  on  the  flies,  rods,  reels,  guns, 
etc.,  or  half  a  dozen  other  points  that  may  be  dis- 
cussed. But  one  thing  all  admit.  Each  and  every 
one  has  gone  to  his  chosen  ground  with  too  much 
impedimenta,  too  much  duffle;  and  nearly  all  have 
used  boats  at  least  twice  as  heavy  as  they  need  to 
have  been.  The  temptation  to  buy  this  or  that  bit 
of  indispensable  camp-kit  has  been  too  strong,  and 
we  have  gone  to  the  blessed  woods,  handicapped 
with  a  load  fit  for  a  pack-mule.  This  is  not  how  to 
do  it. 

Go  light;  the  lighter  the  better,  so  that  you  have 
the  simplest  material  for  health,  comfort  and  enjoy- 
ment. 

Of  course,  if  you  intend  to  have  a  permanent  camp, 
and  can  reach  it  by  boat  or  wagon,  lightness  is  not 
so  important,  though  even  in  that  case  it  is  well  to 
guard  against  taking  a  lot  of  stuff  that  is  likely 
to  prove  of  more  weight  than  worth — only  to  leave 
it  behind  when  you  come  out. 

As  to  clothing  for  the  woods,  a  good  deal  of 
nonsense  has  been  written  about  "  strong,  coarse 
woolen  clothes."  You  do  not  want  coarse  woolen 
clothes.  Fine  wool*>~  cassimere  of  medium  thick- 
ness for  coat,  vest  and  pantaloons,  with  no  cotton 
lining.  Color,  slate  gray  or  dead-leaf  (either  is 
good).  Two  soft,  thick  woolen  shirts;  two  pairs  of 
fine,    but   substantial,   woolen   drawers;     two   pairs   of 


FOOTGEAR  5 

strong  woolen  socks  or  stockings;  these  are  what 
you  need,  and  all  you  need  in  the  way  of  clothing 
for  the  woods,  excepting  hat  and  boots,  or  gaiters. 
Boots  are  best — providing  you  do  not  let  yourself 
be  inveigled  into  wearing  a  pair  of  long-legged  heavy 
boots  with  thick  soles,  as  has  been  often  advised  by 
writers  who  knew  no  better.  Heavy,  loug-legged 
boots  are  a  weary,  tiresome  incumbrance  on  a  hard 
tramp  through  rough  woods.  Even  moccasins  are 
better.  Gaiters,  all  sorts  of  high  shoes  in  fact,  are 
too  bothersome  about  fastening  and  unfastening. 
Light  boots  are  best.  Not  thin,  unserviceable  affairs, 
but  light  as  to  actual  weight.  The  following  hints 
will  give  an  idea  for  the  best  footgear  for  the  woods; 
let  them  be  single  soled,  single  backs  and  single 
fronts,  except  light,  short  foot-linings.  Backs  of 
solid  "country  kip;"  fronts  of  substantial  French 
calf;  heel  one  inch  high,  with  steel  nails;  countered 
outside;  straps  narrow,  of  fine  French  calf  put  on 
"astraddle,"  and  set  down  to  the  top  of  the  back. 
The  out-sole  stout,  Spanish  oak,  and  pegged  rather 
than  sewed,  although  either  is  good.  They  will  weigh 
considerably  less  than  half  as  much  as  the  clumsy, 
costly  boots  usually  recommended  for  the  woods;  and 
the  added  comfort  must  be   tested  to  be  understood. 

The  hat  should  be  fine,  soft  felt  with  moderately 
low  crown  and  wide  brim;  color  to  match  the  clothing. 

The  proper  covering  for  head  and  feet  is  no  slight 
affair,  and  will  be  found  worth  some  attention.  Be 
careful  that  the  boots  are  not  too  tight,  or  the  hat  too 
loose.  The  above  rig  will  give  the  tourist  one  shirt, 
one  pair  of  drawers  and  a  pair  of  socks  to  carry 
as  extra  clothing.    A  soft,  warm  blanket-bag,  open  at 


6  WOODCRAFT 

the  ends,  and  just  long  enough  to  cover  the  sleeper, 
with  an  oblong  square  of  waterproofed  cotton  cloth 
6x8  feet,  will  give  warmth  and  shelter  by  night  and 
will  weigh  together  five  or  six  pounds.  This,  with 
the  extra  clothing,  will  make  about  eight  pounds  of 
dry  goods  to  pack  over  carries,  which  is  enough. 
Probably,  also,  it  will  be  found  little  enough  for 
comfort. 

During  a  canoe  cruise  across  the  Northern  Wilder- 
ness in  the  late  summer,  I  met  many  parties  at 
different  points  in  the  woods,  and  the  amount  of 
unnecessary  duffle  with  which  they  encumbered 
themselves  was  simply  appalling.  Why  a  shrewd 
business  man,  who  goes  through  with  a  guide  and 
makes  a  forest  hotel  his  camping  ground  nearly 
every  night,  should  handicap  himself  with  a  five- 
peck  pack-basket  full  of  gray  woolen  and  gum  blan- 
kets, extra  clothing,  pots,  pans,  and  kettles,  with  a 
9-pound  10-bore,  and  two  rods — yes,  and  an  extra 
pair  of  heavy  boots  hanging  astride  of  the  gun — 
well,  it  is  one  of  the  things  I  shall  never  understand. 
My  own  load,  including  canoe,  extra  clothing,  blanket- 
bag,  two  days'  rations,  pocket-axe,  rod  and  knap- 
sack, never  exceeded  26  pounds;  and  I  went  prepared 
to  camp  out  any  and  every  night. 

People  who  contemplate  an  outing  in  the  woods 
are  pretty  apt  to  commerce  preparations  a  long  way 
ahead,  and  to  pick  up  many  trifling  articles  that  sug- 
gest themselves  as  useful  and  handy  in  camp;  all  well 
enough  in  their  way,  but  making  at  least  a  too  heavy 
load.  It  is  better  to  commence  by  studying  to  ascer- 
tain just  how  light  one  can  go  through  without  espe- 
cial   discomfort.     A   good   plan   is   to   think   over   the 


PREPARATIONS  7 

trip  during  leisure  hours,  and  make  out  a  list  of 
indispensable  articles,  securing  them  beforehand,  and 
have  them  stowed  in  handy  fashion,  so  that  nothing 
needful  may  be  missing  just  when  and  where  it  can- 
not be  procured.  The  list  will  be  longer  than  one 
would  think,  but  need  not  be  cumbersome  or  heavy. 
As  I  am  usually  credited  with  making  a  cruise  or  a 
long  woods  tramp  with  exceptionally  light  duffle,  I 
will  give  a  list  of  the  articles  I  take  along — going 
on  foot  over  carries  or  through  the  woods. 


CHAPTER  II. 

KNAPSACK,     HATCHET,     KNIVES,     TINWARE  ,   RODS,     FISHING 
TACKLE,   DITTY-BAG. 

HE  clothing,  blanket-bag  and  shelter- 
cloth  are  all  that  need  be  described  in 
that  line.  The  next  articles  that  I 
look  after  are  knapsack  (or  pack 
basket),  rod  with  reel,  lines,  flies, 
hooks,  and  all  my  fishing  gear,  pocket- 
axe,  knives  and  tinware.  Firstly,  the 
knapsack;  as  you  are  apt  to  carry  it 
a  great  many  miles,  it  is  well  to  have 
it  right,  and  easy-fitting  at  the  start. 
Don't  be  induced  to  carry  a  pack  basket.  I  am  aware 
that  it  is  in  high  favor  all  through  the  Northern  Wil- 
derness, and  is  also  much  used  in  many  other  locali- 
ties where  guides  and  sportsmen  most  do  congregate. 
But  I  do  not  like  it.  I  admit  that  it  will  carry  a  loaf 
of  bread,  with  tea,  sugar,  etc.,  without  jamming; 
that  bottles,  crockery,  and  other  fragile  duffle  is 
safer  from  breakage  than  in  an  oil-cloth  knapsack. 
But  it  is  by  no  means  waterproof  in  a  rain  or  a 
splashing  head  sea,  is  more  than  twice  as  heavy — 
always  growing  heavier  as  it  gets  wetter — and  I  had 
rather  have  bread,  tea,  sugar,  etc.,  a  little  jammed 
than   water-soaked.    Also,   it   may   be   remarked   that 

(8) 


KNAPSACK  AND  DITTY-BAG 


KNAPSACK    AND    UITTY-BAO 


10  WOODCRAFT 

man  is  a  vertebrate  animal  and  ought  to  respect  his 
backbone.  The  loaded  pack  basket  on  a  heavy  carry 
never  fails  to  get  in  on  the  most  vulnerble  knob  of 
the  human  vertebrae.  The  knapsack  sits  easy,  and 
does  not  chafe.  The  one  shown  in  the  engraving  is 
of  good  form;  and  the  original — which  I  have  carried 
for  years — is  satisfactory  in  every  respect.  It  holds 
over  half  a  bushel,  carries  blanket-bag,  shelter  tent, 
hatchet,  ditty-bag,  tinware,  fishing  tackle,  clothes 
and  two  days'  rations.  It  weighs,  empty,  just  twelve 
ounces. 

The  hatchet  and  knives  shown  in  the  engraving 
will  be  found  to  fill  the  bill  satisfactorily  so  far  as 
cutlery  may  be  required.  Each  is  good  and  useful  of 
its  kind,  the  hatchet  especially,  being  the  best  model 
I  have  ever  found  for  a  "double-barreled"  pocket-axe. 
And  just  here  let  me  digress  for  a  little  chat  on  the 
indispensable  hatchet;  for  it  is  the  most  difficult  piece 
of  camp  kit  to  obtain  in  perfection  of  which  I  have 
any  knowledge.  Before  I  was  a  dozen  years  old  I 
came  to  realize  that  a -light  hatchet  was  a  sine  qua 
non  in  woodcraft,  and  I  also  found  it  a  most  difficult 
thing  to  get.  I  tried  shingling  hatchets,  lathing 
hatchets,  and  the  small  hatchets  to  be  found  in  coun- 
try hardware  stores,  but  none  of  them  were  satis- 
factory. I  had  quite  a  number  made  by  blacksmiths 
who  professed  skill  in  making  edge  tools,  and  these 
were  the  worst  of  all,  being  like  nothing  on  the  earth 
or  under  it — murderous-looking,  clumsy,  and  all  too 
heavy,  with  no  balance  or  proportion.  I  had  hunted 
twelve  years  before  I  caught  up  with  the  pocket-axe 
I  was  looking  for.  It  was  made  in  Rochester,  by  a 
surgical    instrument   maker   named   Bushnell.     It   cost 


HATCHET  AND  KNIVES 


11 


time  and  money  to  get  it.  I  worked  one  rainy  Sunday 
fashioning  the  pattern  in  wood.  Spoiled  a  day  going 
to  Rochester,  waited  a  day  for  the  blade,  paid  $3.00 
for  it,  and  lost  a  day  coming  home.     Boat  fare  $1.00, 


HATCHET  AND   KNIVES 

and  expenses  $2.00,  besides  three  days  lost  time,  with 
another  rainy  Sunday  for  making  leather  sheath  and 
hickory  handle. 

My  witty  friends,  always  willing  to  help  me  out  in 
figuring    I  he    cost    of    my    hunting    and    fishing    gear, 


12  WOODCRAFT 

made  the  following  business-like  estimate,  which  they 
placed  where  I  would  be  certain  to  see  it  the  first 
thing  in  the  morning.  Premising  that  of  the  five 
who  assisted  in  that  little  joke,  all  stronger,  bigger 
fellows  than  myself,  four  have  gone  "  where  they 
never  see  the  sun,"  I  will  copy  the  statement  as  it 
stands  to-day,  ou  paper  yellow  with  age.  For  I  have 
kept  it  over  forty  years. 

A  WOODSMAN, 

Dr. 
To  getting  up  one  limb  er-go-shif  tie  ss  pocket-axe: 

Cost   of  blade    $3  00 

Fare  on  boat   1  00 

Expenses  for  3  days    3  00 

Three   days  lost  time  at   $1.25  per  day    375 

Two  days  making  model,  handle  and  sheath,  say.  ...  2  00 

Total     $12  75 

Per  contra,  by  actual  value  of  axe 2  00 

Balance     $10  75 

Then  they  raised  a  horse  laugh,  and  the  cost  of 
that  hatchet  became  a  standing  joke  and  a  slur  on 
my  '^business  ability."  What  aggravated  me  most 
was,  that  the  rascals  were  not'so  far  out  in  their  cal- 
culation. And  was  I  so  far  wrong?  That  hatchet 
was  my  favorite  for  nearly  thirty  years.  It  has  been 
"upset"  twice  by  skilled  workmen;  and,  if  my  friend 
"Bero"  has  not  lost  it,  is  still  in  service. 

Would  I  have  gone  without  it  any  year  for  one  or 
two  dollars?  But  I  prefer  the  double  blade.  I  want 
one  thick,  stunt  edge  for  knots,  deers'  bones,  etc., 
and  a  fine,  keen  edge  for  cutting  clear  timber. 

A  word  as  to  knife,  or  knives.     These  are  of  prime 


COOKING  UTENSILS  13 

necessity,  and  should  be  of  the  best,  both  as  to  shape 
and  temper.  The  "bowies"  and  "hunting  knives" 
usually  kept  on  sale,  are  thick,  clumsy  affairs,  with 
a  sort  of  ridge  along  the  middle  of  the  blade,  mur- 
derous-looking, but  of  little  use;  rather  fitted  to 
adorn  a  dime  novel  or  the  belt  of  "Billy  the  Kid," 
than  the  outfit  of  the  hunter.  The  one  shown  in  the 
cut  is  thin  in  the  blade,  and  handy  for  skinning,  cut- 
ting meat,  or  eating  with.  The  strong  double-bladed 
pocket  knife  is  the  best  model  I  have  yet  found,  and. 
in  connection  with  the  sheath  knife,  is  all  sufficient 
for  camp  use.  It  is  not  necessary  to  take  table  cut- 
lery into  the  woods.  A  good  fork  may  be  improvised 
from  a  beech  or  birch  stick;  and  the  half  of  a  fresh- 
water mussel  shell,  with  a  split  stick  by  way  of 
handle,  makes  an  excellent  spoon. 

My  entire  outfit  for  cooking  and  eating  dishes  com- 
prises five  pieces  of  tinware.  This  is  when  stopping 
in  a  permanent  camp.     When  cruising  and  tramping, 

1  take  just  two  pieces  in  the  knapsack. 

I  get  a  skillful  tinsmith  to  make  one  dish  as  fol- 
lows:    Six  inches  on  bottom,  6%   inches  on  top,  side 

2  inches  high.  The  bottom  is  of  the  heaviest  tin  pro- 
curable, the  sides  of  lighter  tin,  and  seamed  to  be 
water-tight  without  solder.  The  top  simply  turned, 
without  wire.  The  second  dish  to  be  made  the  same, 
but  small  enough  to  nest  in  the  first,  and  also  to  fit 
into  it  when  inverted  as  a  cover.  Two  other  dishes 
made  from  common  pressed  tinware,  with  the  tops 
cut  off  and  turned,  also  without  wire.  They  are  fitted 
so  that  they  all  nest,  taking  no  more  room  than  the 
largest  dish  alone,  and  each  of  the  three  smaller 
dishes    makes    a    perfect    cover    for    the    next    larger. 


14  WOODCRAFT 

The  other  piece  is  a  tin  camp-kettle,  also  of  the 
heaviest  tin,  and  seamed  water-tight.  It  holds  two 
quarts,  and  the  other  dishes  nest  in  it  perfectly,  so 
that  when  packed  the  whole  take  just  as  much  room 
as  the  kettle  alone.  I  should  mention  that  the  strong 
ears  are  set  below  the  rim  of  the  kettle,  and  the  bale 
falls  outside,  so,  as  none  of  the  dishes  have  any 
handle,  there  are  no  aggravating  "stickouts"  to  wear 
and  abrade.  The  snug  affair  weighs,  all  told,  two 
pounds.  I  have  met  parties  in  the  North  Woods 
whose  one  frying  pan  weighed  more — with  its  handle 
three  feet  long.  How  ever  did  they  get  through  the 
brush  with  such  a  culinary  terror? 

It  is  only  when  I  go  into  a  very  accessible  camp 
that  I  take  so  much  as  five  pieces  of  tinware  along. 
I  once  made  a  ten  days'  tramp  through  an  unbroken 
wilderness  on  foot,  and  all  the  dish  I  took  was  a  ten- 
cent  tin;  it  was  enough.  I  believe  I  will  tell  the  story 
of  that  tramp  before  I  get  through.  For  I  saw  more 
game  in  the  ten  days  than  I  ever  saw  before  or  since 
in  a  season;  and  I  am  told  that  the  whole  region  is 
now  a  thrifty  farming  country,  with  the  deer  nearly 
all  gone.  They  were  plenty  enough  thirty-nine  years 
ago  this  very  month. 

I  feel  more  diffidence  in  speaking  of  rods  than  of 
any  other  matter  connected  with  out-door  sports. 
The  number  and  variety  of  rods  and  makers;  the 
enthusiasm  of  trout  and  fly  "cranks;"  the  fact  that 
angling  does  not  take  precedence  of  all  other  sports 
with  me,  with  the  humiliating  confession  that  I  am 
not  above  bucktail  spinners,  worms  and  sinkers,  min- 
now tails  and  white  grubs — this  and  these  constrain 
me  to  be  brief. 


RODS  15 

But,  as  I  have  been  a  fisher  all  my  life,  from  my 
pinhook  days  to  the  present  time;  as  I  have  run  the 
list  pretty  woU  up,  from  brook  minnows  to  100-pound 
aesthetic  plaything,  costing  $50  to  $75,  or  it  may  be 
the  rod  and  the  \icc  thereof. 

A  rod  may  be  a  very  high-toned,  high-priced, 
albacoreo,  I  may  be  pardoned  for  a  few  remarks  on 
— a  rod.  A  serviceable  and  splendidly  balanced  rod 
can  be  obtained  from  first  class  makers  for  less 
money.  By  all  means  let  the  man  of  money  indulge 
nis  fancy  for  the  most  costly  rod  that  can  be  pro- 
cured. He  might  do  worse.  A  practical  every  day 
sportsman  whose  income  is  limited  will  find  that  a 
more  modest  product  will  drop  his  flies  on  the  water 
quite  as  attractively  to  Salmo  fontinalis.  My  little 
8%-foot,  4%-ounce  split  bamboo  which  the  editor  of 
Forest  and  Stream  had  made  for  me  cost  $10.00. 
I  have  given  it  hard  usage  and  at  times  large  trout 
have  tested  it  severely,  but  it  has  never  failed  me. 
The  dimensions  of  my  second  rod  are  9^  feet  long 
and  5%  ounces  in  weight.  This  rod  will  handle  the 
bucktail  spinners  which  I  use  for  trout  and  bass, 
when  other  things  have  failed.  I  used  a  rod  of  this 
description  for  several  summers  both  in  Adirondack 
and  western  waters.  It  had  a  hand-made  reel  seat, 
agate  first  guide,  was  satisfactory  in  every  respect, 
and  I  could  see  in  balance,  action,  and  appearance 
no  superiority  in  a  rod  costing  $25.00,  which  one  of 
my  friends  sported.  Charles  Dudley  Warner,  who 
writes  charmingly  of  woods  life,  has  the  following  in 
regard  to  trout  fishing,  which  is  so  neatly  humorous 
that   it  will  bear  repeating: 

"It  is  well  known  that  no  person   who  regards  his 


16  WOODCRAFT 

reputation  will  ever  kill  a  trout  with  anything  but  a 
fly.  It  requires  some  training  on  the  part  of  the 
trout  to  take  to  this  method.  The  uncultivated  trout 
in  unfrequented  waters  prefers  the  bait;  and  the 
rural  people,  whose  sole  object  in  going  a-fishing 
appears  to  be  to  catch  fish,  indulge  them  in  their 
primitive  state  for  the  worm.  No  sportsman,  how- 
ever, will  use  anything  but  a  fly — except  he  happens 
to  be  alone."  Speaking  of  rods,  he  says:  "The  rod 
is  a  bamboo  weighing  seven  ounces,  which  has  to  be 
spliced  with  a  winding  of  silk  thread  every  time  it 
is  used.  This  is  a  tedious  process;  but,  by  fastening 
the  joints  in  this  way,  a  uniform  spring  is  secured 
in  the  rod.  No  one  devoted  to  high  art  would  think 
of  using  a  socket  joint." 

One  summer  during  a  seven  weeks'  tour  in  the 
Northern  Wilderness,  my  only  rod  was  a  7%  foot 
Henshall.  It  came  to  hand  with  two  bait-tips  only; 
but  I  added  a  fly-tip,  and  it  make  an  excellent  "gen- 
eral fishing  rod."  With  it  I  could  handle  a  large 
bass  or  pickerel;  it  was  a  capital  bait-rod  for  brook 
trout;  as  fly  rod  it  has  pleased  me  well  enough. 
It  is  likely  to  go  with  me  again.  For  reel  casting, 
the  51/.  foot  rod  is  handier.  But  it  is  not  yet  de- 
cided which  is  best,  and  I  leave  every  man  his  own 
opinion.  Only,  I  think  one  rod  enough,  but  have 
always  had  more. 

And  don't  neglect  to  take  what  sailors  call  a  "ditty- 
bag."  This  may  be  a  little  sack  of  chamois  leather 
about  4  inches  wide  by  6  inches  in  length.  Mine  is 
before  me  as  I  write.  Emptying  the  contents,  I  find 
it  inventories  as  follows:  A  dozen  hooks,  running  in 
size   from   small    minnow   hooks    to   large   Limericks; 


CONTENTS  OF  DITTY-BAG  IT 

four  lines  of  six  yards  each,  varying  from  the  finest 
to  a  size  sufficient  for  a  ten-pound  fish;  three  darning 
needles  and  a  few  common  sewing  needles;  a  dozen 
buttons;  sewing  silk;  thread,  and  a  small  ball  of 
strong  yarn  for  darning  socks;  sticking  salve;  a  bit 
of  shoemaker's  wax;  beeswax;  sinkers,  and  a  very 
fine  file  for  sharpening  hooks.  The  ditty-bag  weighs, 
with  contents,  2V2  ounces;  and  it  goes  in  a  small 
buckskin  bullet  pouch,  which  I  wear  almost  as  con- 
stantly as  my  hat.  The  pouch  has  a  sheath  strongly 
sewed  on  the  back  side  of  it,  where  the  light  hunting 
knife  is  always  at  hand,  and  it  also  carries  a  two- 
ounce  vial  of  fly  medicine,  a  vial  of  "pain  killer,"  and 
two  or  three  gangs  of  hooks  on  brass  wire  snells — 
of  which,  more  in  another  place.  I  can  always  go 
down  into  that  pouch  for  a  water-proof  match  safe, 
strings,  compass,  bits  of  linen  and  scarlet  flannel 
(for  frogging),  copper  tacks,  and  other  light  duffle. 
It  is  about  as  handy  a  piece  of  woods-kit  as  I  carry. 
I  hope  no  aesthetic  devotee  of  the  fly-rod  will  lay 
down  the  book  in  disgust  when  I  confess  to  a  week- 
ness  for  frogging.  I  admit  that  it  is  not  high-toned 
sport;  and  yet  I  have  got  a  good  deal  of  amusement 
out  of  it.  The  persistence  with  which  a  large 
batrachian  will  snap  at  a  bit  of  red  flannel  after  being 
several  times  hooked  on  the  same  lure,  and  the  comi- 
cal way  in  which  he  will  scuttle  off  with  a  quick 
succession  of  short  jumps  after  each  release;  the 
cheerful  manner  in  which,  after  each  bout,  he  will 
tune  up  his  deep,  bass  pipe — ready  for  another  greedy 
snap  at  an  ibis  fly  or  red  rag — is  rather  funny.  And 
his  hind  legs,  rolled  in  meal  and  nicely  browned,  are 
preferable  to  trout  or  venison. 


CHAPTER  III. 


GETTING    LOST. — CAMPING    OUT. — ROUGHING    IT    OB    SMOOTH- 
ING IT. — INSECTS. — CAMPS,  AND  HOW 
TO  MAKE  THEM. 

ITH  a  large  majority  of  prospective 
tourists  and  outers,  "camping  out"  is 
a  leading  factor  in  the  summer  vaca- 
tion. And  during  the  long  winter 
months  they  are  prone  to  collect  in 
little  knots  and  talk  much  of  camps, 
fishing,  hunting,  and  "roughing  it." 
The  last  phrase  is  very  popular  and 
always  cropping  out  in  the  talks  on 
matters  pertaining  to  a  vacation  in 
the  woods.  I  dislike  the  phrase.  We  do  not  go  to 
the  green  woods  and  crystal  waters  to  rough  it,  we 
go  to  smooth  it.  We  get  it  rough  enough  at  home; 
in  towns  and  cities;  in  shops,  offices,  stores,  banks — 
anywhere  that  we  may  be  placed — with  the  necessity 
always  present  of  being  on  time  and  up  to  our  work; 
of  providing  for  the  dependent  ones;  of  keeping  up, 
catching  up,  or  getting  left.  "Alas  for  the  life-long 
battle,   whose  bravest   slogan   is  bread." 

As  for  the  few  fortunate  ones  who  have  no  call  to 
take  a  hand  in  any  strife  or  struggle,  who  not  only 

(  18) 


TAKE    IT    EASY  19 

have  all  the  time  there  is,  but  a  great  deal  that  they 
cannot  dispose  of  with  any  satisfaction  to  themselves 
or  anybody  else  —  I  am  not  writing  for  them;  but 
only  to  those  of  the  world's  workers  who  go,  or  would 
like  to  go,  every  summer  to  the  woods.  And  to  these 
I  would  say,  don't  rough  it;  make  it  as  smooth,  as 
restful  and  pleasureable  as  you  can. 

To  this  end  you  need  pleasant  days  and  peaceful 
nights.  You  cannot  afford  to  be  tormented  and 
poisoned  by  insects,  nor  kept  awake  at  night  by  cold 
and  damp,  nor  to  exhaust  your  strength  by  hard 
tramps  and  heavy  loads.  Take  it  easy,  and  always 
keep  cool.  Nine  men  out  of  ten,  on  finding  them- 
selves lost  in  the  woods,  fly  into  a  panic,  and  quarrel 
with  the  compass.  Never  do  that.  The  compass  is 
always  right,  or  nearly  so.  It  is  not  many  years 
since  an  able-bodied  man — sportsmaa  of  course — lost 
his  way  in  the  North  Woods,  and  took  fright,  as 
might  be  expected.  He  was  well  armed  and  well 
found  for  a  week  in  the  woods.  What  ought  to  have 
been  only  an  interesting  adventure,  became  a  tragedy. 
He  tore  through  thickets  and  swamps  in  his  senseless 
panic,  until  he  dropped  and  died  through  fright, 
hunger  and  exhaustion. 

A  well  authenticated  story  is  told  of  a  guide  in  the 
Oswegatchie  region,  who  perished  in  the  same  way. 
Guides  are  not  infallible;  I  have  known  more  than 
one  to  get  lost.  Wherefore,  should  you  be  tramping 
through  a  pathless  forest  on  a  cloudy  day,  and 
should  the  sun  suddenly  break  from  under  a  cloud  in 
the  northwest  about  noon,  don't  be  scared.  The  last 
day  is  not  at  hand,  and  the  planets  have  not  become 
mixed;    only,    you    are    turned.     You    have    gradually 


20  WOODCRAFT 

swung  around,  until  you  are  facing  northwest  when 
you  meant  to  travel  south.  It  has  a  muddling  effect 
on  the  mind — this  getting  lost  in  the  woods.  But,  if 
you  can  collect  and  arrange  your  gray  brain  matter, 
and  suppress  all  panicky  feeling,  it  is  easily  got 
along  with.  For  instance;  it  is  morally  certain  that 
you  commenced  swinging  to  southwest,  then  west, 
to  northwest.  Had  you  kept  on  until  you  were  head- 
ing directly  north,  you  could  rectify  your  course  sim- 
ply by  following  a  true  south  course.  But,  as  you 
have  varied  three-eighths  of  the  circle,  set  your  com- 
pass and  travel  by  it  to  the  southeast,  until,  in  your 
judgment,  you  have  about  made  up  the  deviation; 
then  go  straight  south,  and  you  will  not  be  far  wrong. 
Carry  the  compass  in  your  hand  and  look  at  it  every 
few  minutes;  for  the  tendency  to  swerve  from  a 
straight  course  when  a  man  is  once  lost — and  nearly 
always   to  the   right — is  a   thing   past   understanding. 

As  regards  poisonous  insects,  it  may  be  said  that, 
to  the  man  with  clean,  bleached,  tender  skin,  they 
are,  at  the  start,  an  unendurable  torment.  No  one 
can  enjoy  life  with  a  smarting,  burning,  swollen  face, 
while  the  attacks  on  every  exposed  inch  of  skin  are 
persistent  and  constant.  I  have  seen  a  young  man 
after  two  days'  exposure  to  these  pests  come  out  of 
the  woods  with  one  eye  entirely  closed  and  the  brow 
hanging  over  it  like  a  clam  shell,  while  face  and 
hands  were  almost  hideous  from  inflammation  and 
puffiness.  The  St.  Regis  and  St.  Francis  Indians, 
although  born  and  reared  in  the  woods,  by  no  means 
make  light  of  the  black  fly. 

It  took  the  man  who  could  shoot  Phantom  Falls 
to  find  out,  "Its  bite  is  not  severe,  nor  is  it  ordinarily 


INSECT  PESTS  21 

poisonous.  There  may  be  an  occasional  exception  to 
this  rule;  but  beside  the  bite  of  the  mosquito,  it  is 
comparatively  mild  and  harmless."  And  again: 
"Gnats  *  *  *  in  my  way  of  thinking,  are  much 
worse  than  the  black  fly  or  mosquito."  So  says 
Murray.  Our  observations  differ.  A  thousand  mos- 
quitoes and  as  many  gnats  can  bite  me  without  leav- 
ing a  mark,  or  having  any  effect  save  the  pain  of 
the  bite  while  they  are  at  work.  But  each  bite  of  the 
black  fly  makes  a  separate  and  distinct  boil,  that  will 
not  heal  and  be  well  in  two  months. 

While  fishing  for  brook  trout  in  July  last,  I  ran 
into  a  swarm  of  them  on  Moose  River,  and  got  badly 
bitten.  I  had  carelessly  left  my  medicine  behind. 
On  the  first  of  October  the  bites  had  not  ceased  to 
be  painful,  and  it  was  three  months  before  they  dis- 
appeared entirely.  Frank  Forester  says,  in  his  "Fish 
and  Fishing,"  page  371,  that  he  has  never  fished  for 
the  red-fleshed  trout  of  Hamilton  county,  "being 
deterred  therefrom  by  dread  of  that  curse  of  the 
summer  angler,  the  black  fly,  which  is  to  me  espe- 
cially venomous." 

"Adirondack  Murray"  gives  extended  directions 
for  beating  these  little  pests  by  the  use  of  buckskin 
gloves  with  chamois  gauntlets,  Swiss  mull,  fine  mus- 
lin, etc.  Then  he  advises  a  mixture  of  sweet  oil  and 
tar,  which  is  to  be  applied  to  face  and  hands;  and  he 
adds  that  it  is  easily  washed  off,  leaving  the  skin 
soft  and  smooth  as  an  infant's;  all  of  which  is  true. 
But,  more  than  forty  years'  experience  in  the  woods 
has  taught  me  that  the  following  recipe  is  infallible 
anywhere  that  sancudos,  moquims,  or  our  own  poison- 
ous insects  do  most  abound. 


22  WOODCRAFT 

It  was  published  in  Forest  and  Stream  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1880,  and  again  in  '83.  It  has  been  pretty 
widely  quoted  and  adopted,  and  I  have  never  known 
it  to  fail:  Three  ounces  pine  tar,  two  ounces  castor 
oil,  one  ounce  pennyroyal  oil.  Simmer  all  together 
over  a  slow  fire,  and  bottle  for  use.  You  will  hardly 
need  more  than  a  two-ounce  vial  full  in  a  season. 
One  ounce  has  lasted  me  six  weeks  in  the  woods. 
Rub  it  in  thoroughly  and  liberally  at  first,  and  after 
you  have  established  a  good  glaze,  a  little  replenish- 
ing from  day  to  day  will  be  sufficient.  And  don't 
fool  with  soap  and  towels  where  insects  are  plenty. 
A  good  safe  coat  of  this  varnish  grows  better  the 
longer  it  is  kept  on — and  it  is  cleanly  and  whole- 
some. If  you  get  your  face  and  hands  crocky  or 
smutty  about  the  camp-fire,  wet  the  corner  of  your 
handkerchief  and  rub  it  off,  not  forgetting  to  apply 
the  varnish  at  once,  wherever  you  have  cleaned  it 
off.  Last  summer  I  carried  a  cake  of  soap  and  a 
towel  in  my  knapsack  through  the  North  Woods  for 
a  seven  weeks'  tour,  and  never  used  either  a  single 
time.  When  I  had  established  a  good  glaze  on  the 
skin,  it  was  too  valuable  to  be  sacrificed  for  any 
weak  whim  connected  with  soap  and  water.  When 
I  struck  a  woodland  hotel,  I  found  soap  and  towels 
plenty  enough.  I  found  the  mixture  gave  one's  face 
the  ruddy  tanned  look  supposed  to  be  indicative  of 
health  and  hard  muscle.  A  thorough  ablution  in  the 
public  wash  basin  reduced  the  color,  but  left  the  skin 
very  soft  and  smooth;  in  fact,  as  a  lotion  for  the 
skin  it  is  excellent.  It  is  a  soothing  and  healing 
application  for  poisonous  bites  already  received. 

I  have  given  some  space  to  the  insect  question,  but 


BEWARE    THE    BLACK    FLY  23 

uo  more  than  it  deserves  or  requires.  The  venomous 
little  wretches  are  quite  importaut  enough  to  spoil 
many  a  well  planned  trip  to  the  woods,  and  it  is  best 
to  beat  them  from  the  start.  You  will  find  that 
immunity  from  insects  and  a  comfortable  camp  are 
the  two  first  and  most  indispensable  requisites  of 
an  outing  in  the  woods.  And  just  here  I  will  briefly 
tell  how  a  young  friend  of  mine  went  to  the  woods, 
some  twenty-five  years  ago.  He  was  a  bank  clerk, 
and  a  good  fellow  withal,  with  a  leaning  toward 
camp-life. 

For  months,  whenever  we  met,  he  would  introduce 
his  favorite  topics,  fishing,  camping  out,  etc.  At  last 
in  the  hottest  of  the  hot  months,  the  time  came.  He 
put  in  an  appearance  with  a  fighting  cut  on  his  hair, 
a  little  stiff  straw  hat,  and  a  soft  skin,  bleached  by 
long  confinement  in  a  close  office.  I  thought  he 
looked  a  little  tender;  but  he  was  sanguine.  He 
could  rough  it,  could  sleep  on  the  bare  ground  with 
the  root  of  a  tree  for  a  pillow;  as  for  mosquitoes 
and  punkies,  he  never  minded  them. 

We  went  in  a  party  of  five — two  old  hunters  and 
three  youngsters,  the  latter  all  enthusiasm  and  pluck 
— at  first.  Toward  the  last  end  of  a  heavy  eight- 
mile  tramp,  they  grew  silent,  and  slapped  and 
scratched  nervously.  Arriving  at  the  camping  spot, 
they  worked  fairly  well,  but  were  evidently  weaken- 
ing a  little.  By  the  time  we  were  ready  to  turn  in 
they  were  reduced  pretty  well  to  silence  and  suffer- 
ing— especially  the  bank  clerk,  Jean  L.  The  punkies 
were  eager  for  his  tender  skin,  and  they  were  rank 
poison  to  him.  He  muffled  his  head  in  a  blanket 
and  tried  to  sleep,  but  it  was  only  a  partial  success. 


24  WOODCRAFT 

When,  by  suffocating  himself,  he  obtained  a  little 
relief  from  insect  bites,  there  were  stubs  and  knotty 
roots  continually  poking  themselves  among  his  ribs, 
or  digging  into  his  backbone. 

I  have  often  had  occasion  to  observe  that  stubs, 
roots  and  small  stones,  etc.,  have  a  perverse  ten- 
dency to  abrade  the  anatomy  of  people  unused  to  the 
woods.  Mr.  C.  D.  Warner  has  noticed  the  same 
thing,  I  believe. 

On  the  whole,  Jean  and  the  other  youngsters  be- 
haved very  well.  Although  they  turned  out  in  the 
morning  with  red,  swollen  faces  and  half  closed  eyes, 
they  all  went  trouting  and  caught  about  150  small 
trout  between  them.  They  did  their  level  bravest  to 
make  a  jolly  thing  of  it;  but  Jean's  attempt  to  watch 
a  deerlick,  resulted  in  a  wetting  through  the  sudden 
advent  of  a  shower;  and  the  shower  drove  about  all 
the  punkies  and  mosquitoes  in  the  neighborhood 
under  our  roof  for  shelter.  I  never  saw  them  more 
plenty  or  worse.  Jean  gave  in  and  varnished  his  pelt 
thoroughly  with  my  "punkie  dope,"  as  he  called 
it;  but,  too  late;  the  mischief  was  done.  And  the 
second  trial  was  worse  to  those  youngsters  than  the 
first.  Moi'e  insects.  More  stubs  and  knots.  Owing 
to  these  little  annoyances,  they  arrived  at  home 
several  days  before  their  friends  expected  them — 
leaving  enough  rations  in  camp  to  last  Old  Sile  and 
the  writer  a  full  week.  And  the  moral  of  it  is,  if 
they  had  fitted  themselves  for  the  woods  before  going 
there,  the  trip  would  have  been  a  pleasure  instead  of 
a  misery. 

One  other  little  annoyance  I  will  mention,  as  a 
common  occurrence  among  those  who  camp  out;   this 


PILLOWS  25 

is  the  lack  of  a  pillow.  I  suppose  I  have  camped 
fifty  times  with  people,  who,  on  turning  in,  were 
squirming  around  for  a  long  time,  trying  to  get  a 
rest  for  the  head.  Boots  are  the  most  common  re- 
sort. But,  when  you  place  a  boot-leg — or  two  of 
them — under  your  head,  they  collapse,  and  make  a 
head-rest  less  than  half  an  inch  thick.  Just  why  it 
never  occurs  to  people  that  a  stuffing  of  moss,  leaves, 
or  hemlock  browse,  would  fill  out  the  bootleg  and 
make  a  passable  pillow,  is  nother  conundrum  I  can- 
not answer.  But  there  is  another  and  better  way  of 
making  a  pillow  for  camp  use,  which  I  will  describe 
further  on. 

And  now  I  wish  to  devote  some  space  to  one  of 
the  most  important  adjuncts  of  woodcraft,  i.  e., 
camps;  how  to  make  them,  and  how  to  make  them 
comfortable.  There  are  camps,  and  camps.  There 
are  camps  in  the  North  Woods  that  are  really  fine 
villas,  costing  thousands  of  dollars,  and  there  are  log- 
houses,  and  shanties,  and  bark  camps,  and  A  tents, 
and  walled  tents,  shelter  tents  and  shanty  tents.  But, 
I  assume  that  the  camp  best  fitted  to  the  wants  of 
the  average  outer  is  the  one  that  combines  the  essen- 
tials of  dryness,  lightness,  portability,  cheapness, 
and  is  easily  and  quickly  put  up.  Another  essential 
is,  that  it  must  admit  of  a  bright  fire  in  front  by 
night  or  day.  I  will  give  short  descriptions  of  the 
forest  shelters  (camps)  I  have  found  handiest  and 
most   useful. 

Firstly,  I  will  mention  a  sort  of  camp  that  was 
described  in  a  sportsman's  paper,  and  has  since  been 
largely  quoted  and  used.  It  is  made  by  fastening  a 
horizontal   pole   to   a    couple   of  contiguous   trees,    and 


26  WOODCRAFT 

then  putting  on  a  heavy  covering  of  hemlock  boughs, 
shingling  them  with  the  tips  downward,  of  course. 
A  fire  is  to  be  made  at  the  roots  of  one  of  the  trees. 
This,  with  plenty  of  boughs,  may  be  made  to  stand  a 
pretty  stiff  rain;  but  it  is  only  a  damp  arbor,  and  no 
camp,  properly  speaking.  A  forest  camp  should 
always  admit  of  a  bright  fire  in  front,  with  a  lean-to 
or  shed  roof  overhead,  to  reflect  the  fire  heat  on  the 
bedding  below.  Any  camp  that  falls  short  of  this, 
lacks  the  requirements  of  warmth,  brightness  and 
healthfulness.  This  is  why  I  discard  all  close,  canvas 
tents. 

The  simplest  and  most  primitive  of  all  camps  is 
the  "Indian  camp."  It  is  easily  and  quickly  made; 
is  warm  and  comfortable,  and  stands  a  pretty  heavy 
rain  when  properly  put  up.  This  is  how  it  is  made: 
Let  us  say  you  are  out  and  have  slightly  missed  your 
way.  The  coming  gloom  warns  you  that  night  is 
shutting  down.  You  are  no  tenderfoot.  You  know 
that  a  place  of  rest  is  essential  to  health  and  com- 
fort through  the  long,  cold  November  night.  You 
dive  down  the  first  little  hollow  until  you  strike  a 
rill  of  water,  for  water  is  a  prime  necessity.  As  you 
draw  your  hatchet  you  take  in  the  whole  situation  at 
a  glance.  The  little  stream  is  gurgling  downward 
in  a  half  choked  frozen  way.  There  is  a  huge  sod- 
den hemlock  lying  across  it.  One  clip  of  the  hatchet 
shows  it  will  peel.  There  is  plenty  of  smaller  tim- 
ber standing  around;  long,  slim  poles,  with  a  tuft  of 
foliage  on  top.  Five  minutes  suffice  to  drop  one  of 
these,  cut  a  twelve-foot  pole  from  it,  sharpen  the 
pole  at  each  end,  jam  one  end  into  the  ground  and 
the  other  into  the  rough  bark  of  a  scraggy  hemlock, 


THE  INDIAN  CAMP 


27 


c 


INDIAN    CAMP. 


28  WOODCRAFT 

and  there  is  your  ridge  pole.  Now  go — with  your 
hatchet — for  the  bushiest  and  most  promising  young 
hemlocks  within  reach.  Drop  them  and  draw  them 
to  camp  rapidly.  Next,  you  need  a  fire.  There  are 
fifty  hard,  resinous  limbs  sticking  up  from  the  prone 
hemlock;  lopp  off  a  few  of  these,  and  split  the  largest 
into  match  timber;  reduce  the  splinters  to  shavings, 
scrape  the  wet  leaves  from  your  prospective  fire- 
place, and  strike  a  match  on  the  balloon  part  of  your 
trousers.  If  you  are  a  woodsman  you  will  strike  but 
one.  Feed  the  fire  slowly  at  first;  it  will  gain  fast. 
When  you  have  a  blaze  ten  feet  high,  look  at  your 
watch.  It  is  6  P.  M.  You  don't  want  to  turn  in 
before  10  o'clock,  and  you  have  four  hours  to  kill 
before  bed-time.  Now,  tackle  the  old  hemlock;  take 
off  every  dry  limb,  and  then  peel  the  bark  and  bring 
it  to  camp.  You  will  find  this  takes  an  hour  or  more. 
Next,  strip  every  limb  from  your  young  hemlocks, 
and  shingle  them  onto  your  ridge  pole.  This  will 
make  a  sort  of  bear  den,  very  well  calculated  to  give 
you  a  comfortable  night's  rest.  The  bright  fire  will 
soon  dry  the  ground  that  is  to  be  your  bed,  and  you 
will  have  plenty  of  time  to  drop  another  small  hem- 
lock and  make  a  bed  of  browse  a  foot  thick.  You  do 
it.  Then  you  make  your  pillow.  Now,  this  pillow  is 
essential  to  comfort  and  very  simple.  It  is  half  a 
yard  of  muslin,  sewed  up  as  a  bag,  and  filled  with 
moss  or  hemlock  browse.  You  can  empty  it  and  put 
it  in  your  pockel,  where  it  takes  up  about  as  much 
room  as  a  handkerchief.  You  have  other  little  mus- 
lin bags — an'  you  be  wise.  One  holds  a  couple  of 
ounces  of  good  tea;  another,  sugar;  another  is  kept 
to    put    your    loose    duffle    in;      money,    match    safe, 


NIGHT  IN  CAMP  29 

pocket-knife.  You  have  a  pat  of  butter  and  a  bit  of 
pork,  with  a  liberal  slice  of  brown  bread;  and  before 
turning  in  you  make  a  cup  of  tea,  broil  a  slice  of 
pork,  and  indulge  in  a  lunch. 

Ten  o'clock  comes.  The  time  has  not  passed 
tediously.  You  are  warm,  dry  and  well-fed.  Your 
old  friends,  the  owls,  come  near  the  fire-light  and 
salute  you  with  their  strange  wild  notes;  a  distant 
fox  sets  up  for  himself  with  his  odd,  barking  cry 
and  you  turn  in.     Not  ready  to  sleep  just  yet. 

But  you  drop  off;  and  it  is  two  bells  in  the  morn- 
ing watch  when  you  waken  with  a  sense  of  chill  and 
darkness.  The  fire  has  burned  low,  and  snow  is 
falling.  The  owls  have  left,  and  a  deep  silence 
broods  over  the  cold,  still  forest.  You  rouse  the  fire, 
and,  as  the  bright  light  shines  to  the  furthest  recess- 
es of  your  forest  den,  get  out  the  little  pipe,  and 
reduce  a  bit  of  navy  plug  to  its  lowest  denomination. 
The  smoke  curls  lazily  upward;  the  fire  makes  you 
warm  and  drowsy,  and  again  you  lie  down — to  again 
awaken  with  a  sense  of  chilliness — to  find  the  fire 
burned  low,  and  daylight  breaking.  You  have  slept 
better  than  you  would  in  your  own  room  at  home. 
You  have  slept  in  an  "Indian  camp." 

You  have  also  learned  the  difference  between  such 
a  simple  shelter  and  an  open  air  bivouac  under  a  tree 
or  beside  an  old  log. 

Another  easily  made  and  very  comfortable  camp  is 
the  "brush  shanty,"  as  it  is  usually  called  in  North- 
ern Pennsylvania.  The  frame  for  such  a  shanty  is 
a  cross-pole  resting  on  two  crotches  about  six  feet 
high,  and  enough  straight  poles  to  make  a  founda- 
tion   for    the    thatch.     The    poles    are    laid    about    six 


30  WOODCRAFT 

inches  apart,  one  end  on  the  ground,  the  other  on  the 
crosspole,  and  at  a  pretty  sharp  angle.  The  thatch 
is  made  of  the  fan-like  boughs  cut  from  the  thrifty 
young  hemlock,  and  are  to  he  laid  bottom  upward 
and  feather  end  down.  Commence  to  lay  them  from 
the  ground,  and  work  up  to  the  crosspole,  shingling 
them  carefully  as  you  go.  If  the  thatch  be  laid  a  foot 
in  thickness,  and  well  done,  the  shanty  will  stand 
a  pretty  heavy  rain — better  than  the  average  bark 
roof,  which  is  only  rain-proof  in  dry  weather. 

A  bark  camp,  however,  may  be  a  very  neat  sylvan 
affair,  provided  you  are  camping  where  spruce  or 
balsam  fir  may  be  easily  reached,  and  in  the  hot 
months  when  bark  will  "peel";  and  you  have  a  day 
in  which  to  work  at  a  camp.  The  best  bark  camps 
I  have  ever  seen  are  in  the  Adirondacks.  Some  of 
them  are  rather  elaborate  in  construction,  requiring 
two  or  more  days'  hard  labor  by  a  couple  of  guides. 
When  the  stay  is  to  be  a  long  one,  and  the  camp  per- 
manent, perhaps  it  will  pay. 

As  good  a  camp  as  I  have  ever  tried — perhaps  the 
best — is  the  "shanty-tent,"  shown  in  the  illustration. 
It  is  easily  put  up,  is  comfortable,  neat,  and  abso- 
lutely rain-proof.  Of  course,  it  may  be  of  any  re- 
quired size;  but,  for  a  party  of  two,  the  following 
dimensions  and  directions  will  be  found  all  sufficient: 

Firstly,  the  roof.  This  is  merely  a  sheet  of  strong 
cotton  cloth  0  feet  long  by  4  or  4%  feet  in  width. 
The  sides,  of  the  same  material,  to  be  4%  feet  deep 
at  front,  and  2  feet  deep  at  the  back.  This  gives  7 
feet  along  the  edge  of  the  roof,  leaving  2  feet  for 
turning  down  at  the  back  end  of  the  shanty.  It  will 
be   seen   that  the  sides  must  be   "cut  bias,"   to   com- 


THE   SHANTY-TENT  31 

pensate  for  the  angle  of  the  roof,  otherwise  the 
shanty  will  not  be  square  and  ship-shape  when  put 
up.  Allowing  for  waste  in  cutting,  it  takes  nearly 
3  yards  of  cloth  for  each  side.  The  only  labor  re- 
quired in  making,  is  to  cut  the  sides  to  the  proper 
shape,  and  stitch  them  to  the  roof.  No  buttons, 
strings,  or  loops.  The  cloth  does  not  even  require 
hemming.  It  does,  however,  need  a  little  water- 
proofing; for  which  the  following  receipt  will  answer 
very  well,  and  add  little  or  nothing  to  the  weight: 
To  10  quarts  of  water  add  10  ounces  of  lime,  and  4 
ounces  of  alum;  let  it  stand  until  clear;  fold  the 
cloth  snugly  and  put  it  in  another  vessel,  pour  the 
solution  on  it,  let  it  soak  for  12  hours;  then  rinse  in 
luke-warm  rain  water,  stretch  and  dry  in  the  sun,  and 
the  shanty-tent  is  ready  for  use. 

To  put  it  up  properly,  make  a  neat  frame  as  fol- 
lows: Two  strong  stakes  or  posts  for  the  front, 
driven  firmly  in  the  ground  4%  feet  apart;  at  a  dis- 
tance of  6  feet  10  inches  from  these,  drive  two  other 
posts — these  to  be  4  feet  apart — for  back  end  of 
shanty.  The  front  posts  to  be  4%  feet  high,  the 
back  rests  only  two  feet.  The  former,  also  to  incline  a 
little  toward  each  other  above,  so  as  to  measure 
from  outside  of  posts,  just  4  feet  at  top.  This  gives 
a  little  more  width  at  front  end  of  shanty,  adding 
space  and  warmth.  No  crotches  are  used  in  putting 
up  the  shanty-tent.  Each  of  the  four  posts  are 
fitted  on  the  top  to  receive  a  flat-ended  cross-pole, 
and  admit  of  nailing.  When  the  posts  are  squarely 
ranged  and  driven,  select  two  straight,  hard-wood 
rods,  2  inches  in  diameter,  and  7  feet  in  length — or 
a   little  more.     Flatten   the  ends  carefully  and  truly, 


32  WOODCRAFT 

lay  them  alongside  on  top  from  post  to  post,  and 
fasten  them  with  a  light  nail  at  each  end.  Now, 
select  two  more  straight  rods  of  the  same  size,  but 
a  little  over  4  feet  in  length;  flatten  the  ends  of 
these  as  you  did  the  others,  lay  them  crosswise  from 
side  to  side,  and  lapping  the  ends  of  the  other  rods; 
fasten  them  solidly  by  driving  a  sixpenny  nail 
through  the  ends  and  into  the  posts,  and  you  have  a 
square  frame  7x4  feet.  But  it  is  not  yet  complete. 
Three  light  rods  are  needed  for  rafters.  These  are 
to  be  placed  lengthwise  of  the  roof  at  equal  distances 
apart,  and  nailed  or  tied  to  keep  them  in  place.  Then 
take  two  straight  poles  a  little  over  7  feet  long,  and 
some  3  inches  in  diameter.  These  are  to  be  accu- 
rately flattened  at  the  ends,  and  nailed  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  posts,  snug  to  the  ground,  on  outside  of 
posts.  A  foot-log  and  head-log  are  indispensable. 
These  should  be  about  5  inches  in  diameter,  and  of 
a  length  to  just  reach  from  outside  to  outside  of 
posts.  They  should  be  squared  at  ends,  and  the  foot- 
log  placed  against  the  front  post,  outside,  and  held 
firmly  in  place  by  two  wooden  pins.  The  head-log 
is  fastened  the  same  way,  except  that  it  goes  against 
the  inside  of  the  back  posts;  and  the  frame  is  com- 
plete. Round  off  all  sharp  angles  or  corners  with 
knife  and  hatchet,  and  proceed  to  spread  and  fasten 
the  cloth.  Lay  the  roof  on  evenly,  and  tack  it  truly 
to  the  front  cross-rod,  using  about  a  dozeu  six-ounce 
tacks.  Stretch  the  cloth  to  its  bearings,  and  tack  it 
at  the  back  end  in  the  same  manner.  Stretch  it  side- 
wise  and  tack  the  sides  to  the  side  poles,  fore  and 
aft.  Tack  front  and  back  ends  of  sides  to  the  front 
and  back  posts.      Bring  down  the  2-foot  flap   of  roof 


CONSTRUCTION  33 

at  back  end  of  shanty;  stretch,  and  tack  it  snugly 
to  the  back  posts — and  your  sylvan  house  is  done. 
It  is  rain-roof,  wind-proof,,  warm  and  comfortable. 
The  foot  and  head  logs  define  the  limits  of  your 
forest  dwelling;  within  which  you  may  pile  fragrant 
hemlock  browse  as  thick  as  you  please,  and  renew 
it  from  day  to  day.     It  is  the  perfect  camp. 

You  may  put  it  up  with  less  care  and  labor,  and 
make  it  do  very  well.  But  I  have  tried  to  explain 
how  to  do  it  in  the  best  manner;  to  make  it  all  suf- 
ficient for  an  entire  season.  And  it  takes  longer  to 
tell  it  on  paper  than  to  do  it. 

When  I  go  to  the  woods  with  a  partner,  and  we 
arrive  at  our  camping  ground,  I  like  him  to  get  his 
fishing  rig  together,  and  start  out  for  a  half  day's 
exercise  with  his  favorite  flies,  leaving  me  to  make 
the  camp  according  to  my  own  notions  of  woodcraft. 
If  he  will  come  back  about  dusk  with  a  few  pounds 
of  trout,  I  will  have  a  pleasant  camp  and  a  bright 
fire  for  him.  And  if  he  has  enjoyed  wading  an  icy 
stream  more  than  I  have  making  the  camp — he  has 
had  a  good  day. 

Perhaps  it  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  say  that  the 
camp,  made  as  above,  calls  for  fifteen  bits  of  timber, 
posts,  rods,  etc.,  a  few  shingle  nails,  and  some  six- 
penny wrought  nails,  with  a  paper  of  six-ounce 
tacks.  Nails  and  tacks  will  weigh  about  five  ounces, 
and  are  always  useful.  In  tacking  the  cloth,  turn 
the  raw  edge  in  until  you  have  four  thicknesses,  as 
a  single  thickness  is  apt  to  tear.  If  you  desire  to 
strike  camp,  it  takes  about  ten  minutes  to  draw  and 
save  all  the  nails  and  tacks,  told  the  cloth  smoothly, 
and  deposit  the  whole  in  your  knapsack.     If  you  wish 


34  WOODCRAFT 

to  get  up  a  shelter  tent  on  fifteen  minutes'  notice, 
cut  and  sharpen  a  twelve-foot  pole  as  for  the  Indian 
camp,  stick  one  end  in  the  ground,  the  other  in  the 
rough  bark  of  a  large  tree — hemlock  is  best — hang 
the  cloth  on  the  pole,  fasten  the  sides  to  rods,  and 
the  rods  to  the  ground  with  inverted  crotches,  and 
your  shelter  tent  is  ready  for  you  to  creep  under. 
The  above  description  of  the  shanty-tent  may  seem 
a  trifle  elaborate,  but  I  hope  it  is  plain.  The  affair 
weighs  just  three  pounds,  and  it  takes  a  skillful  woods- 
man about  three  hours  of  easy  work  to  put  it  in  the 
shape  described.  Leaving  out  some  of  the  work,  and 
only  aiming  to  get  it  up  in  square  shape  as  quickly 
as  possible,  I  can  put  it  up  in  an  hour.  The  shanty 
as  it  should  be,  is  shown  in  the  illustration  very  fairly. 
And  the  shape  of  the  cloth  when  spread  out,  is  shown 
in  the  diagram  on  page  37.  On  the  whole,  it  is  the 
best  form  of  close-sided  tent  I  have  found.  It  admits 
of  a  bright  fire  in  front,  without  which  a  forest  camp 
is  just  no  camp  at  all  to  me.  I  have  suffered  enough 
in  close,  dark,  cheerless,   damp  tents. 

More  than  thirty  years  ago  I  became  disgusted  with 
the  clumsy,  awkward,  comfortless  affairs  that,  under 
many  different  forms,  went  under  the  name  of  camps. 
Gradually  I  came  to  make  a  study  of  "camping  out." 
It  would  take  too  much  time  and  space,  should  I 
undertake  to  describe  all  the  different  styles  and 
forms  I  have  tried.  But  I  will  mention  a  few  of  the 
best  and  worst. 

The  old  Down  East  "coal  cabin"  embodied  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  Indian  camp.  The  frame  was  simply  two 
strong  crotches  set  firmly  in  the  ground  at  a  distance 


HOW   IT  LOOKS 


35 


sll  AN  1  Y-TKNT    AM)    CAMP-FIRE. 


36  WOODCRAFT 

of  eight  feet  apart,  and  interlocking  at  top.  These 
supported  a  stiff  ridge-pole  fifteen  feet  long,  the  small 
end  sharpened  and  set  in  the  ground.  Refuse  hoards, 
shooks,  stakes,  etc.,  were  placed  thickly  from  the 
ridge-pole  to  the  ground;  a  thick  layer  of  straw  was 
laid  over  these,  and  the  whole  was  covered  a  foot 
thick  with  earth  and  sods,  well  beaten  down.  A  stone 
wall  five  feet  high  at  back  and  sides  made  a  most  ex- 
cellent fireplace;  and  these  cabins  were  weather-proof 
and  warm,  even  in  zero  weather.  But,  they  were  too 
cumbersome,  and  included  too  much  labor  for  the 
ordinary  hunter  and  angler.  Also,  they  were  open 
to  the  objection,  that  while  wide  enough  in  front, 
they  ran  down  to  a  dismal,  cold  peak  at  the  far  end. 
Remembering,  however,  the  many  pleasant  winter 
nights  I  had  passed  with  the  coal-burners,  I  bought 
a  supply  of  oil-cloth  and  rigged  it  on  the  same  prin- 
ciple. It  was  a  partial  success,  and  I  used  it  for  one 
season.  But  that  cold,  peaked,  dark  space  was  always 
back  of  my  head,  and  it  seemed  like  an  iceberg.  It 
was  in  vain  that  I  tied  a  handkerchief  about  my  head, 
or  drew  a  stocking-leg  over  it.  That  miserable,  icy 
angle  was  always  there.  And  it  would  only  shelter 
one  man  anyhow.  When  winter  drove  me  out  of  the 
woods  I  gave  it  to  an  enthusiastic  young  friend,  bought 
some  more  oil-cloth,  and  commenced  a  shanty-tent 
that  was  meant  to  be  perfect.  A  good  many  leisure 
hours  were  spent  in  cutting  and  sewing  that  shanty, 
which  proved  rather  a  success.  It  afforded  a  perfect 
shelter  for  a  space  7x4  feet,  but  was  a  trifle  heavy 
to  pack,  and  the  glazing  began  to  crack  and  peel  off 
in  a   short  time.     I   made   another  and   larger  one  of 


DIAGRAM  OF   SHANTY-TENT 


37 


38  WOODCRAFT 

stout  drilling,  soaked  in  lime-water  and  alum;  and 
this  was  all  that  could  be  asked  when  put  up  properly 
on  a  frame.  But,  the  sides  and  ends  being  sewed  to 
the  roof  made  it  unhandy  to  use  as  a  shelter,  when 
shelter  was  needed  on  short  notice.  So  I  ripped  the 
back  ends  of  the  sides  loose  from  the  flap,  leaving  it, 
when  spread  out,  as  shown  in  the  diagram.  This  was 
better;  when  it  was  necessary  to  make  some  sort  of 
shelter  in  short  order,  it  could  be  done  with  a  single 
pole  as  used  in  the  Indian  camp,  laying  the  tent 
across  the  pole,  and  using  a  few  tacks  to  keep  it  in 
places  at  sides  and  center.  This  can  be  done  in  ten 
minutes,  and  makes  a  shelter-tent  that  will  turn  a 
heavy  rain  for  hours. 

On  the  whole,  for  all  kinds  of  weather,  the  shanty- 
tent  is  perhaps  the  best  style  of  camp  to  be  had  at 
equal  expense  and  trouble.  The  cost  of  it  is  about 
$1.25. 

For  a  summer  camp,  however,  I  have  finally  come 
to  prefer  the  simple  lean-to  or  shed  roof.  It  is  the 
lightest,  simplest  and  cheapest  of  all  cloth  devices  for 
camping  out,  and  I  have  found  it  sufficient  for  all 
weathers  from  June  until  the  fall  of  the  leaves.  It  is 
only  a  sheet  of  strong  cotton  cloth  9x7  feet,  and 
soaked  in  lime  and  alum-water  as  the  other.  The 
only  labor  in  making  it  is  sewing  two  breadths  of 
sheeting  together.  It  needs  no  hemming,  binding, 
loops  or  buttons,  but  is  to  be  stretched  on  a  frame  as 
described  for  the  brush  shanty,  and  held  in  place 
with  tacks.  The  one  I  have  used  for  two  seasons 
cost  sixty  cents,  and  weighs  2%  pounds.  It  makes  a 
good  shelter  for  a  party  of  three;    and  if  it  be  found 


SPARKS  39 

a  little  too  breezy  for  cool  nights,  a  sufficient  wind- 
break can  be  made  by  driving  light  stakes  at  the 
sides  and  weaving  in  a  siding  of  hemlock  bows. 

Lastly,  whatever  cloth  structure  you  may  elect  to 
use  for  a  camp,  do  not  fail  to  cover  the  roof  with  a 
screen  of  green  boughs  before  building  your  camp- 
fire.  Because,  there  will  usually  be  one  fellow  in  camp 
who  has  a  penchant  for  feeding  the  fire  with  old 
mulchy  deadwood  and  brush,  for  the  fun  of  watching 
the  blaze,  and  the  sparks  that  are  prone  to  fly  upward; 
forgetting  that  the  blazing  cinders  are  also  prone  to 
drop  downward  on  the  roof  of  the  tent,  burning  holes 
in  it. 

I  have  spoken  of  some  of  the  best  camps  I  know. 
The  worst  ones  are  the  A  and  wall  tents,  with  all 
closed  camps  in  which  one  is  required  to  seclude 
himself  through  the  hours  of  sleep  in  damp  and  dark- 
ness, utterly  cut  off  from  the  cheerful,  healthful  light 
and  warmth  of  the  camp-fire. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


CAMP-FIRES       AM)       THEIR       IMPORTANCE TILE       WASTEFUL 

WRONG  WAY  THEY  ARE  USUALLY  MADE,  AND  THE 
RIGHT     WAY     TO     MAKE     THEM. 

ARDLY  second  in  importance  to  a  warm, 
dry  camp,  is  the  camp-fire.  In  point 
of  fact,  the  warmth,  dryness,  and  health- 
fulness  of  a  forest  camp  are  mainly 
dependent  on  the  way  the  fire  is  man- 
aged and  kept  up.  No  asthmatic  or 
consumptive  patient  ever  regained 
health  by  dwelling  in  a  close,  damp 
tent.  I  once  camped  for  a  week  in  a 
wall  tent,  with  a  Philadelphia  party, 
and  in  cold  weather.  We  had  a  little  sheet  iron  fiend, 
called  a  camp-stove.  When  well  fed  with  bark,  knots 
and  chips,  it  would  get  red  hot,  and,  heaven  knows, 
give  out  heat  enough.  By  the  time  we  were  sound 
asleep,  it  would  subside;  and  we  would  presently 
awake  with  chattering  teeth  to  kindle  her  up  again, 
take  a  smoke  and  a  nip,  turn  in  for  another  nap — 
to  awaken  again  half  frozen.  It  was  a  poor  substi- 
tute for  the  open  camp  and  bright  fire.  An  expe- 
rience of  fifty  years  convinces  me  that  a  large  per- 
centage of  the  benefit  obtained  by  invalids  from  camp 


(40) 


THE  "GUIDES'  CAMP"  41 

life  is  attributable  to  the  open  camp  and  well-man- 
aged camp-fire.  And  the  latter  is  usually  handled  in 
a  way  that  is  too  sad,  too  wasteful;  in  short,  badly 
botched.     For  instance. 

It  happened  in  the  summer  of  '81  that  1  was  mak- 
ing a  canoe  trip  in  the  Northern  Wilderness,  and  as 
Raquette  Lake  is  the  largest  and  about  the  most  in- 
teresting lake  in  the  North  Woods,  I  spent  about  a 
week  paddling,  fishing,  etc.  I  made  my  headquarters 
at  Ed.  Bennett's  woodland  hostelry,  "Under  the 
Hemlocks."  As  the  hotel  was  filled  with  men,  women 
and  crying  children,  bitten  to  agony  by  punkies  and 
mosquitoes,  I  chose  to  spread  my  blanket  in  a  well- 
made  bark  shanty,  which  a  sign-board  in  black  and 
white  said  was  the  "Guides'  Camp." 

And  this  camp  was  a  very  popular  institution. 
Here  it  was  that  every  evening,  when  night  had  set- 
tled down  on  foresl  and  lake,  the  guests  of  the  hotel 
would  gather  to  lounge*  on  the  bed  of  fresh  balsam 
browse,   chat,   sing  and   enjoy   the   huge    camp-fire. 

No  woodland  hotel  will  long  remain  popular  that 
does  not  keep  up  a  bright,  cheery,  out-o'-door  fire. 
And  the  fun  of  it — to  an  old  woodsman — is  in  noting 
how  like  a  lot  of  school  children  they  all  act  about 
the  fire.  Ed.  Bennett  had  a  man,  a  North  Woods 
trapper,  in  his  employ,  whose  chief  business  was  to 
furnish  plenty  of  wood  for  the  guides'  camp,  and 
start  a  good  fire  every  evening  by  sundown.  As  it 
grew  dark  and  the  blaze  shone  high  and  bright,  the 
guests  would  begin  to  straggle  in;  and  every  man, 
woman  and  child  seemed  to  view  it  as  a  religious  duty 
to  pause  by  the  fire,  and  add  a  stick  or  two,  before 


42  WOODCRAFT 

passing  into  camp.  The  wood  was  thrown  on  end- 
wise, crosswise,  or  any  way,  so  that  it  would  burn, 
precisely  as  a  crowd  of  boys  make  a  bonfire  on  the 
village  green.  The  object  being,  apparently,  to  get 
rid  of  the  wood  in  the  shortest  possible  time. 

When  the  fire  burnt  low,  toward  mid-night,  the 
guests  would  saunter  off  to  the  hotel;  and  the  guides, 
who  had  been  waiting  impatiently,  would  organize 
what  was  left  of  the  fire,  roll  themselves  in  their 
blankets,  and  turn  in.  I  suggested  to  the  trapper 
that  he  and  I  make  one  fire  as  it  should  be,  and 
maybe  they  would  follow  suit — which  would  save 
half  the  fuel,  with  a  better  fire.  But  he  said,  "No; 
they  like  to  build  bonfires,  and  'Ed.'  can  stand  the 
wood,  because  it  is  best  to  let  them  have  their  own 
way.  Time  seems  to  hang  heavy  on  their  hands 
—and  they  pay  well."  Summer  boarders,  tourists 
and  sportsmen,  are  not  the  only  men  who  know  how 
to  build  a  camp-fire  all  wrong. 

When  I  fir»st  came  to  Northern  Pennsylvania,  thirty- 
five  years  ago,  I  found  game  fairly  abundant;  and, 
as  I  wanted  to  learn  the  country  where  deer  most 
abounded,  I  naturally  cottoned  to  the  local  hunters. 
Good  fellows  enough,  and  conceited,  as  all  local 
hunters  and  anglers  are  apt  to  be.  Strong,  good 
hunters  and  axe-men,  to  the  manor  born,  and  prone 
to  look  on  any  outsider  as  a  tenderfoot.  Their  mode 
of  building  camp-fires  was  a  constant  vexation  to  me. 
They  made  it  a  point  to  always  have  a  heavy  sharp 
axe  in  camp,  and  toward  night  some  sturdy  chopper 
would  cut  eight  or  ten  logs  as  heavy  as  the  whole 
party   could   lug  to   camp  with   hand-spikes.     The   size 


ROASTED  OUT  43 

of  the  logs  was  proportioned  to  the  muscular  force  in 
camp.  If  there  was  a  party  of  six  or  eight,  the  logs 
would  be  twice  as  heavy  as  when  we  were  three  or 
four.  Just  at  dark,  there  would  be  a  log  heap  built  in 
front  of  the  camp,  well  chinked  with  bark,  knots  and 
small  sticks;  and;  for  the  next  two  hours,  one  could 
hardly  get  at  the  fire  to  light  a  pipe.  But  the  fire 
was  sure  though  slow.  By  10  or  11  P.  M.  it  would 
work  its  way  to  the  front,  and  the  camp  would  be 
warm  and  light.  The  party  would  turn  in,  and  deep 
sleep  would  fall  on  a  lot  of  tired  hunters — for  two 
or  three  hours.  By  which  time  some  fellow  near  the 
middle  was  sure  to  throw  his  blanket  off  with  a  spite- 
ful perk,  and  dash  out  of  camp  with,  "Holy  Moses! 
I  can't  stand  this;     it's  an  oven." 

Another  Snorer  (partially  waking). — "N-r-r-rm, 
gu-r-r,  ugh.     Can't  you — deaden — fire — a  little?" 

First    Speaker.— "Deaden    h .     If    you    want    the 

fire  deadened,  get  up  and  help  throw  off  some  of 
these  logs." 

Another  (in  coldest  corner  of  shanty)— "What's  'er 
matter — with  a-you  fellows?  Better  dig  out — an' 
cool  off  in  the  snow.     Shanty's  comfor'ble  enough." 

His  minority  report  goes  unheeded.  The  camp  is 
roasted  out.  Strong  hands  and  hand-spikos  pry  a 
couple  of  glowing  logs  from  the  front  and  replace 
them  with  two  cold,  green  logs;  the  camp  cools  off, 
and  the  party  takes  to  blankets  once  more — to  turn 
out  again  at  5  A.  M.,  and  inaugurate  breakfast.  The 
fire  is  not  in  favorable  shape  for  culinary  operations, 
the  heat  is  mainly  on  the  back  side,  just  where  it  isn't 
wanted.     The  few  places  level  enough  to  set  a  pot  or 


44  WOODCRAFT 

pan  are  too  hot;  and,  in  short,  where  there  is  any 
Are,  there  is  too  much.  One  man  sees,  with  intense 
disgust,  the  nozzle  of  his  coffee-pot  drop  into  the  fire. 
He  makes  a  rash  grab  to  save  his  coffee,  and  gets 
away — with  the  handle,  which  hangs  on  just  enough 
to  upset  the  pot. 

"Old  Al.,"  who  is  frying  a  slice  of  pork  over  a  bed 
of  coals  that  would  melt  a  gun  barrel,  starts  a  horse 
laugh,  that  is  cut  short  by  a  blue  flash  and  an  explo- 
sion of  pork  fat,  which  nearly  blinds  him.  And  the 
writer,  taking  in  these  mishaps  in  the  very  spirit  of 
fun  and  frolic,  is  suddenly  sobered  and  silenced  by 
seeing  his  venison  steak  drop  from  the  end  of  the 
'•frizzling  stick,"  and  disappear  between  two  glowing 
logs.  The  party  manages,  however,  to  get  off  on  the 
hunt  at  daylight,  with  full  stomachs;  and  perhaps  the 
hearty  fun  and  laughter  more  than  compensate  for 
these  little  mishaps. 

This  is  a  digression.  But  I  am  led  to  it  by  the  recol- 
lection of  many  nights  spent  in  camps  and  around 
camp-fires,  pretty  much  as  described  above.  I  can 
smile  today  at  the  remembrance  of  the  calm,  superior 
way  in  which  the  old  hunters  of  that  day  would  look 
down  on  me,  as  from  the  upper  branches  of  a  tall 
hemlock,  when  I  ventured  to  suggest  that  a  better  fire 
could  be  made  with  half  the  fuel  and  less  than  half 
the  labor.  They  would  kindly  remark,  "Oh,  you  are 
a  Boston  boy.  iou  are  used  to  paying  $8.00  a  cord 
for  wood.  We  have  no  call  to  save  wood  here.  We 
can  afford  to  burn  it  by  the  acre."  Which  was  more 
true  than  logical.  Most  of  these  men  had  commenced 
life  with  a  stern  declaration  of  war  against  the  forest; 


A  WINTER  CAMP  45 

;ind,  although  the  men  usually  won  at  last,  the  battle 
was  a  long  ;md  hard  one.  Small  wonder  that  they 
tame  to  look  upon  a  forest  tree  as  a  natural  enemy. 
The  camp-fire  question  came  to  a  crisis,  however, 
with  two  or  three  of  these  old  settlers.  And,  as  the 
story  well  illustrates  my  point,  I  will  venture  to 
tell  it. 

It  was  in  the  "dark  days  before  Christmas"  that  a 
party  of  four  started  from  W.,  bound  for  a  camp  on 
Second  Fork,  in  the  deepest  part  of  the  wilderness 
that  lies  between  Wellsboro  and  the  Block  House. 
The  party  consisted  of  Sile  J.,  Old  Al.,  Eli  J.  and 
the  writer.  The  two  first  were  gray-haired  men, 
the  others  past  thirty;  all  the  same,  they  called  us 
"the  boys."  The  weather  was  not  inviting,  and  there 
was  small  danger  of  our  camp  being  invaded  by 
summer  outers  or.  tenderfeet.  It  cost  twelve  miles 
of  hard  travel  to  reach  that  camp;  and,  though  we 
started  at  daylight,  it  was  past  noon  when  he  arrived. 
The  first  seven  miles  could  be  made  on  wheels,  the 
balance  by  hard  tramping.  The  road  was  execrable; 
no  one  cared  to  ride;  but  it  was  necessary  to  have 
our  loads  carried  as  far  as  possible.  The  clearings 
looked  dreary  enough,  and  the  woods  forbidding  to 
a  degree,  but  our  old  camp  was  the  picture  of  desola- 
tion. There  was  six  inches  of  damp  snow  on  the 
leafless  brush  roof,  the  blackened  brands  of  our  last 
fire  were  sticking  their  charred  ends  out  of  the  snow, 
the  hemlocks  were  bending  sadly  under  their  loads 
of  wet  snow,  and  the  entire  surroundings  had  a  cold, 
cheerless,  slushy  look,  very  little  like  the  ideal  hunt- 
er's camp.     We  placed   our  knapsncks   in   the  shanty, 


46  WOODCRAFT 

Eli  got  out  his  nail  hatchet,  I  drew  my  little  pocket- 
axe,  and  we  proceeded  to  start  a  fire,  while  the  two 
older  men  went  up  stream  a  few  rods  to  unearth  a 
full-grown  axe  and  a  hottle  of  old  rye,  which  they  had 
cached  under  a  log  three  months  before.  They  never 
fooled  with  pocket-axes.  They  were  gone  so  long 
that  we  sauntered  up  the  band,  thinking  it  might  be 
the  rye  that  detained  them.  We  found  them  with 
their  coats  off,  working  like  beavers,  each  with  a  stout, 
sharpened  stick.  There  had  been  an  October  freshet, 
and  a  flood-jam  at  the  bend  had  sent  the  mad  stream 
over  its  banks,  washing  the  log  out  of  position  and 
piling  a  gravel  bar  two  feet  deep  over  the  spot  where 
the  axe  and  flask  should  have  been.  About  the  only 
thing  left  to  do  was  to  cut  a  couple  of  stout  sticks, 
organize  a  mining  company,  limited,  and  go  in; 
which  they  did.  Sile  was  drifting  into  the  side  of  the 
sandbar  savagely,  trying  to  strike  the  axe-helve,  and 
Old  Al.  was  sinking  numberless  miniature  shafts  from 
the  surface  in  a  vain  attempt  to  strike  whisky.  The 
company  failed  in  about  half  an  hour.  Sile  resumed 
his  coat,  and  sat  down  on  a  log — which  was  one  of 
his  best  holds,  by  the  way.  He  looked  at  Al.;  Al. 
looked  at  him;  then  both  looked  at  us,  and  Sile  re- 
marked that,  if  one  of  the  boys  wanted  to  go  out 
to  the  clearings  and  "borry"  an  axe,  and  come  back 
in  the  morning,  he  thought  the  others  could  pick  up 
wood  enough  to  tough  it  out  one  night.  Of  course 
nobody  could  stay  in  an  open  winter  camp  without 
an  axe. 

It  was  my  time  to  come  to  the  front.     I  said:     "You 
two  just  go  at  the  camp;    clean  the  snow  off  and  slick 


CAMP  FIRE  AS    IT   SHOULD   BE 


47 


CAMP-FIKE  AS  IT  SHOULD  BE  MADE. 


48  WOODCRAFT 

up  the  inside.  Put  my  shelter-cloth  with  Eli's,  and 
cover  the  roof  with  them;  and  if  you  don't  have  just 
as  good  a  fire  tonight  as  you  ever  had,  you  can  tie 
me  to  a  beech  and  leave  me  here.  Come  on,  Eli." 
And  Eli  did  come  on.  And  this  is  how  we  did  it: 
We  first  felled  a  thrifty  butternut  tree  ten  inches  in 
diameter,  cut  off  three  lengths  at  five  feet  each,  and 
carried  them  to  camp.  These  were  the  back  logs. 
Two  stout  stakes  were  driven  at  the  back  of  the  fire, 
and  the  logs,  on  top  of  each  other,  were  laid  firmly 
against  the  stakes.  The  latter  were  slanted  a  little 
back,  and  the  largest  log  placed  at  bottom,  the  small- 
est on  top,  to  prevent  tipping  forward.  A  couple  of 
short,  thick  sticks  were  laid  with  the  ends  against  the 
bottom  log  by  way  of  fire  dogs;  a  fore  stick,  five  feet 
long  and  five  inches  in  diameter;  a  well  built  pyramid 
of  bark,  knots  and  small  logs  completed  the  camp- 
fire,  which  sent  a  pleasant  glow  of  warmth  and  heat 
to  the  furthest  corner  of  the  shanty.  For  "night- 
wood,"  we  cut  a  dozen  birch  and  ash  poles  from  four 
to  six  inches  across,  trimmed  them  to  the  tips,  and 
dragged  them  to  camp.  Then  we  denuded  a  dry 
hemlock  of  its  bark  by  the  aid  of  ten-foot  poles,  flat- 
tened at  one  end,  and  packed  the  bark  to  camp.  We 
had  a  bright,  cheery  fire  from  the  early  evening  until 
morning,  and  four  tired  hunters  never  slept  more 
soundly. 

We  staid  in  that  camp  a  week;  and,  though  the 
weather  was  rough  and  cold,  the  little  pocket-axes 
kept  us  well  in  firewood.  We  selected  butternut  for 
backlogs,  because,  when  green,  it  burns  very  slowly 
and  lasts  a  long  time.     And  we  dragged  our  smaller 


OUR  LUCK  49 

wood  to  camp  in  lengths  of  twenty  to  thirty  feet,  be- 
cause it  was  easier  to  lay  them  on  the  fire  and  "nig- 
ger" them  in  two  than  to  cut  them  shorter  with  light 
hatchets.  With  a  heavy  axe,  we  should  have  cut 
them  to  lengths  of  five  or  six  feet. 

Our  luck,  I  may  mention,  was  good — as  good  as 
we  desired.  Not  that  four  smallish  deer  are  anything 
to  brag  of  for  a  week's  hunt  by  four  men  and  two 
dogs.  I  have  known  a  pot-hunter  to  kill  nine  in  a 
single  day.     But  we  had  enough. 

As  it  was,  we  were  obliged  to  "double  trip  it"  in 
order  to  get  our  deer  and  duffle  down  to  "Babb's." 
And  we  gave  away  more  than  half  our  venison.  For 
the  rest,  the  illustrations  show  the  camp-fire — all  but 
the  fire — as  it  should  be  made. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FISHING,    WITH    AND    WITHOUT    FLIES. SOME    TACKLE    AND 

LURES. — DISCURSIVE  REMARKS  ON  THE  GENTLE 
ART. — THE   HEADLIGHT. — FROGGING. 

HERE  is  probably  no  subject  connected 
with  out-door  sport  so  thoroughly  and 
exhaustively  written  up  as  fly-fishing, 
and  all  that  pertains  thereto.  Fly-fish- 
ing for  speckled  trout  always,  and  de- 
servedly, takes  the  lead.  Bass  fishing 
usually  comes  next,  though  some  writ- 
i  |  ers  accord  second  place  to  the  lake  trout, 
HF  salmon     trout    or    land-locked    salmon. 


The  muscalonge,  as  a  game  fish,  is 
scarcely  behind  the  small-mouthed  bass,  and  is  cer- 
tainly more  gamy  than  the  lake  trout.  The  large- 
mouthed  bass  and  pickerel  are  usually  ranked  about 
with  the  yellow  perch.  I  don't  know  why;  they  are 
certainly  gamy  enough.  Perhaps  it  is  because  they 
do  not  leap  out  of  water  when  hooked.  Both  are 
good  on  the  table. 

A  dozen  able  and  interesting  authors  have  written 
books  wherein  trout,  flies  and  fly-fishing  are  treated 
in  a  manner  that  leaves  an  old  backwoodsman  little 

(50) 


IN    OLD    TIMES  51 

to  say.  Rods,  reels,  casting  lines,  flies  and  fish  are 
described  and  descanted  on  in  a  way,  and  in  a  lan- 
guage, the  reading  whereof  reduces  me  to  temporary 
insanity.  And  yet  I  seem  to  recollect  some  bygone 
incidents  concerning  fish  and  fishing.  I  have  a  well- 
defined  notion  that  I  once  stood  on  Flat  Rock,  in  Big 
Pine  Creek,  and  caught  over  350  fine  trout  in  a  short 
day's  fishing.  Also  that  many  times  I  left  home  on  a 
bright  May  or  June  morning,  walked  eight  miles, 
caught  a  twelve-pound  creel  of  trout,  and  walked  home 
before  bedtime. 

I  remember  that  once,  in  Michigan,  on  the  advice 
of  local  fishermen,  I  dragged  a  spoon  around  High 
Bank  Lake  two  days,  with  little  result  save  half 
a  dozen  blisters  on  my  hands;  and  that  on  the  next 
morning,  taking  a  long  tamarack  pole  and  my  own 
way  of  fishing,  I  caught,  before  10  A.  M.,  fifty  pounds 
of  bass  and  pickerel,  weighing  from  two  to  ten  pounds 
each. 

Gibson,  whose  spoon,  line  and  skiff  I  had  been 
using  and  who  was  the  fishing  oracle  of  that  region, 
could  hardly  believe  his  eyes.  I  kept  that  country  inn, 
and  the  neighborhood  as  well,  supplied  with  fish  for 
the  next  two  weeks. 

It  is  truth  to  say  that  I  have  never  struck  salt 
or  fresh  waters,  where  edible  fish  were  at  all  plenty, 
without  being  able  to  take,  in  some  way,  all  that  I 
needed.  Notably  and  preferably  with  the  fly  if  that 
might  be.  If  not,  then  with  worms,  grubs,  minnows, 
grasshoppers,  crickets,  or  any  sort  of  doodle  bug 
their   highnesses    might    affect.     When    a    plump,    two- 


52  WOODCRAFT 

pound  trout  refuses  to  eat  a  tinseled,  feathered  fraud, 
I  am  not  the  man  to  refuse  him  something  more 
edible. 

That  I  may  not  be  misunderstood,  let  me  say  that 
I  recognized  the  speckled  brook  trout  as  the  very  em- 
peror of  all  game  fish,  and  angling  for  him  with  the 
fly  as  the  neatest,  most  fascinating  sport  attainable 
by  the  angler.  But  there  are  thousands  of  outers 
who,  from  choice  or  necessity,  take  their  summer  va- 
cations where  Salnio  fontinalis  is  not  to  be  had.  They 
would  prefer  him,  either  on  the  leader  or  the  table; 
but  he  is  not  there;  "And  a  man  has  got  a  stomach, 
and  we  live  by  what  we  eat." 

Wherefore,  they  go  a-fishing  for  other  fish.  So 
that  they  are  successful  and  sufficiently  fed,  the  differ- 
ence is  not  so  material.  I  have  enjoyed  myself 
hugely  catching  catties  on  a  dark  night  from  a  skiff 
with  a  hand-line. 

I  can  add  nothing  in  a  scientific  way  to  the  litera- 
ture of  fly-fishing;  but  I  can  give  a  few  hints  that 
may  be  conducive  to  practical  success,  as  well  with 
trout  as  with  less  noble  fish.  In  fly-fishing,  one  serv- 
iceable four-ounce  rod  is  enough;  and  a  plain  click 
reel,  of  small  size,  is  just  as  satisfactory  as  a  more 
costly  affair.  Twenty  yards  of  tapered,  water-proof 
line,  with  a  six-foot  leader,  and  a  cast  of  two  flies, 
complete  the  rig,  and  will  be  found  sufficient.  In 
common  with  most  fly-fishers,  I  have  mostly  thrown 
a  cast  of  three  flies,  but  have  found  two  just  as 
effective,  and  handier. 

We  all  carry  too  many  flies.  Some  of  my  friends 
have   more   than   sixty   dozen,    and    will   never   use   a 


THE  BEST  FLIES  53 

tenth  of  them.  In  the  summer  of  '88,  finding  I  had 
more  than  seemed  needful,  I  left  all  but  four  dozen 
behind  me.  I  wet  only  fifteen  of  them  in  a  seven 
weeks'  outing.  And  they  filled  the  bill.  I  have  no 
time  or  space  for  a  dissertation  on  the  hundreds  of 
different  flies  made  and  sold  at  the  present  day. 
Abler  pens  have  done  that.  I  will,  however,  name  a 
few  that  I  have  found  good  in  widely  different  local- 
ities, i.  e.,  the  Northern  Wilderness  of  New  York  and 
the  upper  waters  of  Northern  Pennsylvania.  For 
the  Northern  Wilderness:  Scarlet  ibis,  split  ibis,  Ro- 
meyn,  white-winged  coachman,  royal  coachman,  red 
hackle,  red-bodied  ashy  and  gray-bodied  ashy.  The 
ashies  were  good  for  black  bass  also.  For  Northern 
Pennsylvania:  Queen  of  the  waters,  professor,  red 
fox,  coachman,  black  may,  white-winged  coachman, 
wasp,  brown  hackle,  Seth  Green.  Ibis  flies  are  worth- 
less here.  Using  the  dark  flies  in  bright  water  and 
clear  weather,  and  the  brighter  colors  for  evening, 
the  list  was  long  enough. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  open  season,  and 
until  the  young  maple  leaves  are  half  grown,  bait 
will  be  found  far  more  successful  than  the  fly.  At 
this  time  the  trout  are  pretty  evenly  distributed  along 
lake  shores  and  streams,  choosing  to  lie  quietly  in 
rather  deep  pools,  and  avoiding  swift  water.  A  few 
may  rise  to  the  fly  in  a  logy,  indifferent  way;  but  the 
best  way  to  take  them  is  bait-fishing  with  well-cleansed 
angle  worms  or  white  grubs,  the  latter  being  the  best 
bait  I  have  ever  tried.  They  take  the  bait  slnj;gislily 
at  lliis  season,  bul,  on  feeling  the  hook,  wake  up  to 
their    normal    activity   and    fight    gamely    to    the    last. 


54  WOODCRAFT 

When  young,  new-born  insects  begin  to  drop  freely 
on  the  water,  about  the  20th  of  May,  trout  leave  the 
pools  and  take  to  the  riffles.  And  from  this  time 
until  the  latter  part  of  June  the  fly-fisherman  is  in 
his  glory.  It  may  be  true  that  the  skillful  bait-fisher- 
man will  rather  beat  his  creel.  He  cares  not  for 
that.  He  can  take  enough;  and  he  had  rather  take 
ten  trout  with  the  fly  than  a  score  with  bait.  As  for 
the  man  who  goes  a-fishing  simply  to  catch  fish, 
the  fly-fisher  does  not  recognize  him  as  an  angler 
at  all. 

When  the  sun  is  hot  and  the  weather  grows  warm, 
trout  leave  the  ripples  and  take  to  cold  springs  and 
spring-holes;  the  largest  fish,  of  course,  monopolizing 
the  deepest  and  coolest  places,  while  the  smaller  ones 
hover  around,  or  content  themselves  with  shallower 
water.  As  the  weather  gets  hotter,  the  fly-fishing 
falls  off  badly.  A  few  trout  of  four  to  eight  ounces 
in  weight  may  still  be  raised,  but  the  larger  ones  are 
lying  on  the  bottom,  and  are  not  to  be  fooled  with 
feathers.  They  will  take  a  tempting  bait  when  held 
before  their  noses — sometimes;  at  other  times,  not. 
As  to  raising  them  with  a  fly — as  well  attempt  to  raise 
a  sick  Indian  with  the  temperance  pledge.  And  yet, 
they  may  be  taken  in  bright  daylight  by  a  ruse  that  I 
learned  long  ago,  of  a  youngster  less  than  half  my 
age,  a  little,  freckled,  thin-visaged  young  man,  whose 
health  was  evidently  affected  by  a  daily  struggle  with 
a  pair  of  tow-colored  side  whiskers  and  a  light 
mustache.  There  was  hardly  enough  of  the  whole 
affair  to  make  a  door-mat  for  a  bee  hive.  But  he 
seemed   so  proud   of  the  plant,   that   I   forebore   to  rig 


AT  THE  SPRING-HOLE  55 

him.  He  was  better  than  he  looked — as  often  hap- 
pens. The  landlord  said,  "He  brings  in  large  trout 
every  day,  when  our  best  fly-fishermen  fail."  One 
night,  around  an  out-door  fire,  we  got  acquainted, 
and  I  found  him  a  witty,  pleasant  companion.  Before 
turning  in  I  ventured  to  ask  him  how  he  succeeded  in 
taking  large  trout,  while  the  experts  only  caught 
small  ones,  or  failed  altogether. 

"Go    with   me   tomorrow    morning   to    a    spring-hole 
three  miles  up  the  river,  and  I'll  show  you,"  he  said. 

Of  course, #we  went.  He,  rowing  a  light  skiff,  and 
I  paddling  a  still  lighter  canoe.  The  spring-hole 
was  in  a  narrow  bay  that  set  back  from  the  river,  and 
at  the  mouth  of  a  cold,  clear  brook;  it  was  ten  to 
twelve  feet  deep,  and  at  the  lower  end  a  large  balsam 
had  fallen  in  with  the  top  in  just  the  right  place  for 
getting  away  with  large  fish,  or  tangling  lines  and 
leaders.  We  moored  some  twenty  feet  above  the 
spring-hole,  and  commenced  fishing,  I  with  my 
favorite  cast  of  flies,  my  friend  with  the  tail  of  a  min- 
now. He  caught  a  l^-pound  trout  almost  at  the 
outset,  but  I  got  no  rise;  did  not  expect  it.  Then  I 
went  above,  where  the  water  was  shallower,  and 
raised  a  couple  of  half-pounders,  but  could  get  no 
more.  I  thought  he  had  better  go  to  the  hotel  with 
what  he  had,  but  my  friend  said  "wait";  he  went 
ashore  and  picked  up  a  long  pole  with  a  bushy  tip; 
it  had  evidently  been  used  before.  Dropping  down 
to  the  spring-hole,  he  thrust  the  tip  to  the  bottom  and 
slashed  it  around  in  a  way  to  scare  and  scatter  every 
trout,  within  a  hundred  feet. 

"And  what  does  all  that  mean?"  I  asked. 


56  WOODCRAFT 

"Well,"  he  said,  "every  trout  will  be  back  in  less 
than  an  hour;  and  when  they  first  come  back,  they 
take  the  bait  greedily.  Better  take  off  your  leader 
and  try  bait." 

Which  I  did.  Dropping  our  hooks  to  the  bottom, 
we  waited  some  twenty  minutes,  when  he  had  a  bite, 
and,  having  strong  tackle,  soon  took  in  a  trout  that 
turned  the  scale  at  2*4  pounds.  Then  my  turn  came 
and  I  saved  one  weighing  iy2  pounds.  He  caught 
another  of  1*4  pounds,  and  I  took  one  of  1  pound. 
Then  they  ceased  biting  altogether. 

"And  now,"  said  my  friend,  "if  you  win  work  your 
canoe  carefully  around  to  that  old  balsam  top  and 
get  the  light  where  you  can  see  the  bottom,  you  may 
see  some  large  trout." 

I  did  as  directed,  and,  making  a  telescope  of  my 
hand,  looked  intently  for  the  bottom  of  the  spring- 
hole.  At  first  I  could  see  nothing  but  water;  then  I 
made  out  some  dead  sticks,  and  finally  began  to 
dimly  trace  the  outlines  of  large  fish.  There  they 
were,  more  than  forty  of  them,  lying  quietly  on  the 
bottom  like  suckers,  but  genuine  brook  trout,  every 
one  of  them. 

"This,"  said  he,  "makes  the  fifth  time  I  have 
brushed  them  out  of  here,  and  I  have  never  missed 
taking  from  two  to  five  large  trout.  I  have  two  other 
places  where  I  always  get  one  or  two,  but  this  is  the 
best." 

At  the  hotel  we  found  two  fly-fishers  who  had  been 
out  all  the  morning.  They  each  had  three  or  four 
small  trout. 

During  the  next  week  we  worked  the  spring-holes 


NIGHT-FISHING  57 

daily  in  the  same  way,  and  always  with  success. 
I  have  also  had  good  success  by  building  a  bright 
fire  on  the  bank,  and  fishing  a  spring-hole  by  the 
light — a  mode  of  fishing  especially  successful  with 
catties  and  perch. 

A  bright,  bull's-eye  headlight,  strapped  on  a  stiff 
hat,  so  that  the  light  can  be  thrown  where  it  is 
wanted,  is  an  excellent  device  for  night  fishing.  And 
during  the  heated  term,  when  fish  are  slow  and  slug- 
gish, I  have  found  the  following  plan  works  well: 
Bake  a  hard,  well  salted,  water  "johnny-cake,"  break 
it  into  pieces  the  size  of  a  hen's  egg,  and  drop  the 
pieces  into  a  spring-hole.  This  calls  a  host  of  min- 
nows, and  the  larger  fish  follow  the  minnows.  It 
will  prove  more  successful  on  perch,  catties,  chubs, 
etc.,  than  on  trout,  however.  By  this  plan,  I  have 
kept  a  camp  of  five  men  well  supplied  with  fish  when 
their  best  flies  failed — as  they  mostly  do  in  very  hot 
weather. 

Fishing  for  mascalonge,  pickerel,  and  bass,  is  quite 
another  thing,  though  by  many  valued  as  a  sport 
scarcely  inferior  to  fly-fishing  for  trout.  I  claim  no 
especial  skill  with  the  fly-rod.  It  is  a  good  day  when 
I  get  my  tail  fly  more  than  fifteen  yards  beyond  the 
reel,  with  any  degree  of  accuracy. 

My  success  lies  mainly  with  the  tribes  of  Esox  and 
Micropterus.  Among  these,  I  have  seldom  or  never 
failed  during  the  last  thirty-six  years,  when  the  water 
was  free  of  ice;  and  I  have  had  just  as  good  luck 
when  big-mouthed  bass  and  pickerel  were  in  the  "off 
season,"  as  at  any  time.  For  in  many  waters  there 
comes  a   time — in   late   August  and   September — when 


58  WOODCRAFT 

neither  bass  nor  pickerel  will  notice  the  spoon,  be  it 
handled  never  so  wisely.  Even  the  mascalonge  looks 
on  the  flashing  cheat  with  indifference;  though  a  very 
hungry  specimen  may  occasionally  immolate  himself. 
It  was  at  such  a  season  that  I  fished  High  Bank 
Lake — as  before  mentioned — catching  from  forty  to 
fifty  pounds  of  fine  fish  every  morning  for  nearly  two 
weeks,  after  the  best  local  fishermen  had  assured  me 
that  not  a  decent  sized  fish  could  be  taken  at  that 
season.  Perhaps  a  brief  description  of  the  modes 
and  means  that  have  proved  invariably  successful  for 
many  years  may  afford  a  few  useful  hints,  even  to  old 
anglers. 

To  begin  with,  I  utterly  discard  all  modern  "gangs" 
and  "trains,"  carrying  from  seven  to  thirteen  hooks 
each.  They  are  all  too  small,  and  all  too  many; 
better  calculated  to  scratch  and  tear,  than  to  catch 
and  hold.  Three  hooks  are  enough  at  the  end  of 
any  line,  and  better  than  more.  These  should  be 
fined  or  honed  to  a  perfect  point,  and  the  abrupt 
part  of  the  barb  filed  down  one-half.  All  hooks,  as 
usually  made,  have  twice  as  much  barb  as  they 
should  have;  and  the  sharp  bend  of  the  barb  prevents 
the  entering  of  the  hook  in  hard  bony  structures, 
wherefore  the  fish  only  stays  hooked  so  long  as  there 
is  a  taut  pull  on  the  line.  A  little  loosening  of  the 
line  and  shake  of  the  head  sets  him  free.  But  no 
fish  can  shake  out  a  hook  well  sunken  in  mouth  or 
gills,  though  two-thirds  of  the  barb  be  filed  away. 

For  mascalonge  or  pickerel  I  invariably  use  wire 
snells  made  as  follows:  Lay  off  four  or  more  strands 
of  fine  brass  wire  13  inches  long;    turn  one  end  of  the 


FROG-BAIT  AND  GANGS 


59 


Bi 


FROG-BAIT 


THREE-HOOK  GANG. 


60  WOODCRAFT 

wires  smoothly  over  a  No.  1  iron  wire,  and  work  the 
ends  in  between  the  strands  below.  Now,  with  a  pair 
of  pincers  hold  the  ends,  and,  using  No.  1  as  a 
handle,  twist  the  ends  and  body  of  the  snell  firmly 
together;  this  gives  the  loop;  next,  twist  the  snell  evenly 
and  strongly  from  end  to  end.  Wax  the  end  of  the 
snell  thoroughly  for  two  or  three  inches,  and  wax  the 
tapers  of  two  strong  Sproat  or  O'Shaughnessy  hooks, 
and  wind  the  lower  hook  on  with  strong,  waxed  silk, 
to  the  end  of  the  taper;  then  lay  the  second  hook  at 
right  angles  with  the  first,  and  one  inch  above  it; 
wind  this  as  the  other,  and  then  fasten  a  third  and 
smaller  hook  above  that  for  a  lip  hook.  This  gives 
the  snell  about  one  foot  in  length,  with  the  two  lower 
hooks  standing  at  right  angles,  one  above  the  other, 
and  a  third  and  smaller  hook  in  line  with  the  second. 

The  bait  is  the  element  of  success;  it  is  made  as 
follows:  Slice  off  a  clean,  white  pork  rind,  four  or 
five  inches  long  by  an  inch  and  a  half  wide;  lay  it  on 
a  board,  and,  with  a  sharp  knife  cut  it  as  nearly  to 
the  shape  of  a  frog  as  your  ingenuity  permits.  Prick 
a  slight  gash  in  the  head  to  admit  the  lip  hook,  which 
should  be  an  inch  and  a  half  above  the  second  one, 
and  see  that  the  fork  of  the  bait  rests  securely  in 
the  barb  of  the  middle  hook. 

Use  a  stout  bait-rod  and  a  strong  line.  Fish  from  a 
boat,  with  a  second  man  to  handle  the  oars,  if  con- 
venient. Let  the  oarsman  lay  the  boat  ten  feet  inside 
the  edge  of  the  lily-pads,  and  make  your  cast,  say, 
with  thirty  feet  of  line;  land  the  bait  neatly  to  the 
right,  at  the  edge  of  the  lily-pads,  let  it  sink  a  few 
inches,  and  then  with  the  tip  well  lowered,  bring  the 


PICKEREL  61 

bait  around  on  a  slight  curve  by  a  quick  succession 
of  draws,  with  a  momentary  pause  between  each;  the 
object  being  to  imitate  as  nearly  as  possible  a  swim- 
ming frog.  If  this  be  neatly  done,  and  if  the  bait  be 
made  as  it  should  be,  at  every  short  halt  the  legs 
will  spread  naturally,  and  the  imitation  is  perfect 
enough  to  deceive  the  most  experienced  bass  or  pick- 
erel. When  half  a  dozen  casts  to  right  and  left  have 
been  made  without  success,  it  is  best  to  move  on,  still 
keeping  inside  and  casting  outside  the  lily-pads. 

A  pickerel  of  three  pounds  or  more  will  take  in  all 
three  hooks  at  the  first  snap;  and,  as  he  closes  his 
mouth  tightly  and  starts  for  the  bottom,  strike  quickly, 
but  not  too  hard,  and  let  the  boatman  put  you  out 
into  deep  water  at  once,  where  you  are  safe  from  the 
strong  roots  of  the  yellow  lily. 

It  is  logically  certain  your  fish  is  well  hooked.  You 
cannot  pull  two  strong,  sharp  hooks  through  that 
tightly  closed  mouth  without  fastening  at  least  one  of 
them  where  it  will  do  most  good.  Oftener  both  will 
catch,  and  it  frequently  happens  that  one  hook  will 
catch  each  lip,  holding  the  mouth  nearly  closed,  and 
shortening  the  struggles  of  a  large  fish  very  mate- 
rially. On  taking  off  a  fish,  and  before  casting  again, 
see  that  the  two  lower  hooks  stand  at  right  angles. 
If  they  have  got  turned  in  the  struggle  you  can  turn 
them  at  any  angle  you  like;  the  twisted  wire  is  stiff 
enough  to  hold  them  in  place.  Every  angler  knows 
the  bold,  determined  manner  in  which  the  mascalonge 
strikes  his  prey.  He  will  take  in  bait  and  hooks  at 
the  first  dash,  and  if  the  rod  be  held  stiffly  usually 
hooks  himself.     Barring  large  trout,  he  is  the  king  of 


62  WOODCRAFT 

game  fish.  The  big-mouthed  bass  is  less  savage  in 
his  attacks,  but  is  a  free  biter.  He  is  apt  to  come  up 
behind  and  seize  the  bait  about  two-thirds  of  its 
length,  turn,  and  bore  down  for  the  bottom.  He  will 
mostly  take  in  the  lower  hooks,  however,  and  is  cer- 
tain to  get  fastened.  His  large  mouth  is  excellent 
for  retaining  the  hook. 

As  for  the  small-mouthed  (Micropterus  dolomieu, 
if  you  want  to  be  scientific),  I  have  found  him  more 
capricious  than  any  game  fish  on  the  list.  One  day 
he  will  take  only  dobsons,  or  crawfish;  the  next,  he 
may  prefer  minnows,  and  again,  he  will  rise  to  the  fly 
or  a  bucktail  spinner. 

On  the  whole,  I  have  found  the  pork  frog  the  most 
successful  lure  in  his  case;  but  the  hooks  and  bait 
must  be  arranged  differently.  Three  strands  of  fine 
wire  will  make  a  snell  strong  enough,  and  the  hooks 
should  be  strong,  sharp  and  rather  small,  the  lower 
hooks  placed  only  half  an  inch  apart,  and  a  small  lip 
hook  two  and  a  quarter  inches  above  the  middle  one. 
As  the  fork  of  the  bait  will  not  reach  the  bend  of  the 
middle  hook,  it  must  be  fastened  to  the  snell  by  a 
few  stitches  taken  with  stout  thread,  and  the  lower 
end  of  the  bait  should  not  reach  more  than  a  quarter 
of  an  inch  beyond  the  bottom  of  the  hook,  because 
the  small-mouth  has  a  villainous  trick  of  giving  his 
prey  a  stern  chase,  nipping  constantly  and  viciously 
at  the  tail,  and  the  above  arrangement  will  be  apt  to 
hook  him  at  the  first  snap.  Owing  to  this  trait,  some 
artificial  minnows  with  one  or  two  hooks  at  the  cau- 
dal   end,    are   very   killing — when    he    will    take   them. 

Lake,   or  salmon   trout,  may  be  trolled  for  success- 


LAKE    TROUT  63 

fully  with  the  above  lure;  but  I  do  not  much  affect 
fishing  for  them.  Excellent  sport  may  be  had  with 
them,  however,  early  in  the  season,  when  they  are 
working  near  the  shore,  but  they  soon  retire  to  water 
from  fifty  to  seventy  feet  deep,  and  can  only  be 
caught  by  deep  trolling  or  buoy- fishing.  I  have  no 
fancy  for  sitting  in  a  slow-moving  boat  for  hours, 
dragging  three  or  four  hundred  feet  of  line  in  deep 
water,  a  four-pound  sinker  tied  by  six  feet  of  lighter 
line  some  twenty  feet  above  the  hooks.  The  sinker 
is  supposed  to  go  bumping  along  the  bottom,  while 
the  bait  follows  three  or  four  feet  above  it.  The 
drag  of  the  long  line  and  the  constant  joggling  of  the 
sinker  on  rocks  and  snags,  make  it  difficult  to  tell 
when  one  has  a  strike — and  it  is  always  too  long 
between  bites. 

Sitting  for  hours  at  a  baited  buoy  with  a  hand-line, 
and  without  taking  a  fish,  is  still  worse,  as  more  than 
once  I  have  been  compelled  to  acknowledge  in  very 
weariness  of  soul.  There  are  enthusiastic  anglers, 
however,  whose  specialty  is  trolling  for  lake  trout.  A 
gentleman  by  the  name  of  Thatcher,  who  has  a  fine 
residence  on  Racquette  Lake — which  he  calls  a  camp 
— makes  this  his  leading  sport,  and  keeps  a  log  of  his 
fishing,  putting  nothing  on  record  of  less  than  ten 
pounds  weight.  His  largest  fish  was  booked  at  twen- 
ty-eight pounds,  and  he  added  that  a  well-conditioned 
salmon  trout  was  superior  to  a  brook  trout  on  the 
table;  in  which  I  quite  agree  with  him.  But  he 
seemed  quite  disgusted  when  I  ventured  to  suggest 
that  a  well-conditioned  cattie  or  bullhead,  caught  in 
the  same  waters — was  better  than  either. 


64  WOODCRAFT 

"Do  you  call  the  cattie  a  game  fish?"  he  asked. 

Yes;  I  call  any  fish  a  game  fish  that  is  taken  for 
sport  with  hook  and  line.  I  can  no  more  explain  the 
common  prejudice  against  the  catfish  and  eel  than  I 
can  tell  why  an  experienced  angler  should  drag  a 
gang  of  thirteen  hooks  through  the  water — ten  of 
them  being  worse  than  superfluous.  "Frank  Forester" 
gives  five  hooks  as  the  number  for  a  trolling  gang. 
We  mostly  use  hooks  too  small,  and  do  not  look  after 
points  and  barbs  closely  enough.  A  pair  of  No.  1 
O'Shaughnessy,  or  1%  Sproat,  or  five  tapered  black- 
fish  hooks,  will  make  a  killing  rig  for  small-mouthed 
bass,  using  No.  4  Sproat  for  lip  hook.  Larger  hooks 
are  better  for  the  big-mouthed,  a  four-pound  specimen 
of  which  will  easily  take  in  one's  fist.  A  pair  of  5-0 
O'Shaughnessy's,  or  Sproat's  will  be  found  none  too 
large;  and  as  for  the  mascalonge  and  pickerel,  if  I 
must  err,  let  it  be  on  the  side  of  large  hooks  and 
strong  lines. 

It  is  idle  to  talk  of  playing  the  fish  in  water  where 
the  giving  of  a  few  yards  insures  a  hopeless  tangle 
among  roots,  tree-tops,  etc.  I  was  once  fishing  in 
Western  waters  where  the  pickerel  ran  very  large,  and 
I  used  a  pair  of  the  largest  salmon  hooks  with  tackle 
strong  enough  to  hold  a  fish  of  fifteen  pounds,  with- 
out any  playing;  notwithstanding  which,  I  had  five 
trains  of  three  hooks  each  taken  off  in  as  many  days 
by  monster  pickerel.  An  expert  mascalonge  fisher- 
man— Davis  by  name — happened  to  take  board  at  the 
farm  house  where  I  was  staying,  and  he  had  a  notion 
that  he  could  "beat  some  of  them  big  fellows;" 
and    he    did     it;      with    three    large    cod     hooks,     a 


STOUT  TACKLE  65 

bit  of  fine,  strong  chain,  twelve  yards  of  cod-line, 
an  eighteen-foot  tamarack  pole,  and  a  twelve  inch 
sucker  for  bait.  I  thought  it  the  most  outlandish  rig 
I  had  ever  seen,  but  went  with  him  in  the  early  gray 
of  the  morning  to  see  it  tried,  just  where  I  had  lost 
my  hooks  and  fish. 

Raising  the  heavy  bait  in  the  air,  he  would  give  it  a 
whirl  to  gather  headway,  and  launch  it  forty  feet  away 
with  a  splash  that  might  have  been  heard  thirty  rods. 
It  looked  more  likely  to  scare  than  catch,  but  was  a 
success.  At  the  third  or  fourth  cast  we  plainly  saw 
a  huge  pickerel  rise,  shut  his  immense  mouth  over 
bait,  hooks,  and  a  few  inches  of  chain,  turn  lazily, 
and  head  for  the  bottom,  where  Mr.  D.  let  him  rest 
a  minute,  and  then  struck  steadily  but  strongly. 
The  subsequent  struggle  depended  largely  on  main 
strength,  though  there  was  a  good  deal  of  skill  and 
cool  judgment  shown  in  the  handling  and  landing  of 
the  fish.  A  pickerel  of  forty  pounds  or  more  is  not 
to  be  snatched  out  of  the  water  on  his  first  mad  rush; 
something  must  be  yielded — and  with  no  reel  there 
is  little  chance  of  giving  line.  It  struck  me  my  friend 
managed  his  fish  remarkably  well,  towing  him  back 
and  forth  with  a  strong  pull,  never  giving  him  a 
rest  and  finally  sliding  him  out  on  a  low  muddy  bank, 
as  though  he  were  a  smooth  log.  We  took  him  up  lo 
the  house  and  tested  the  size  of  his  mouth  by  putting 
a  quart  cup  in  it,  which  went  in  easily.  Then  we 
weighed  him,  and  he  turned  the  scales  at  forty-four 
pounds.  It  was  some  consolation  to  find  three  of  my 
hooks  sticking  in  his  mouth.  Lastly,  we  had  a  large 
section  of  him  stuffed  and  baked.     It  was  good;     but 


66  WOODCRAFT 

a  ten-pound  fish  would  have  been  better.  The  moral 
of  all  this — if  it  has  any  moral — is,  use  hooks  accord- 
ing to  the  size  of  fish  you  expect  to  catch. 

And,  when  you  are  in  a  permanent  camp,  and  fish- 
ing is  very  poor,  try  frogging.  It  is  not  a  sport  of  a 
high  order,  though  it  may  be  called  angling — and  it 
can  be  made  amusing,  with  hook  and  line.  I  have 
seen  educated  ladies  in  the  wilderness,  fishing  for 
frogs  with  an  eagerness  and  enthusiasm  not  surpassed 
by  the  most  devoted  angler  with  his  favorite  cast  of 
flies. 

There  are  several  modes  of  taking  the  festive 
batrachian.  He  is  speared  with  a  frog-spear;  caught 
under  the  chin  with  snatch-hooks;  taken  with  hook 
and  line,  or  picked  up  from  a  canoe  with  the  aid  of 
a  headlight,  or  jack-lamp.  The  two  latter  modes  are 
best. 

To  take  him  with  hook  and  line;  a  light  rod,  six 
to  eight  feet  of  line,,  a  snell  of  single  gut  with  a  1-0 
Sproat  or  O'Shaughnessy  hook,  and  a  bit  of  bright 
scarlet  flannel  for  bait;  this  is  the  rig.  To  use  it, 
paddle  up  behind  him  silently,  and  drop  the  rag  just 
in  front  of  his  nose.  He  is  pretty  certain  to  take  it 
on  the  instant.  Knock  him  on  the  head  before  cutting 
off  his  legs.  It  is  unpleasant  to  see  him  squirm,  and 
hear  him  cry  like  a  child  while  you  are  sawing  at  his 
thigh  joints. 

By  far  the  most  effective  manner  of  frogging  is  by 
the  headlight  on  dark  nights.  To  do  this  most  suc- 
cessfully, one  man  in  a  light  cauoe,  a  good  headlight 
and  a  light,  one-handed  paddle,  are  the  requirements. 
The  frog  is  easily  located,  either  by  his  croaking,  or 


THE  HEADLIGHT  67 

by  his  peculiar  shape.  Paddle  up  to  him  silently  and 
throw  the  light  in  his  eyes;  you  may  then  pick  him  up 
as  you  would  a  potato.  I  have  known  a  North  Woods 
guide  to  pick  up  a  five-quart  pail  of  frogs  in  an  hour, 
on  a  dark  evening.  On  the  table,  frogs'  legs  are 
usually  conceded  first  place  for  delicacy  and  flavor. 
For  an  appetizing  breakfast  in  camp,  they  have  no 
equal,  in  my  judgment.  The  high  price  they  bring 
at  the  best  hotels,  aud  their  growing  scarcity,  attest 
the  value  placed  on  them  by  men  who  know  how  and 
what  to  eat.  And,  not  many  years  ago,  an  old  pork- 
gobbling  backwoodsman  threw  his  frying-pan  into 
the  river  because  I  had  cooked  frogs'  legs  in  it. 
While  another,  equally  intelligent,  refused  to  use 
my  frying-pan,  because  I  had  cooked  eels  in  it; 
remarking  sententiously,  "Eels  is  snakes,  an'  I  know 
it." 

It  may  be  well,  just  here  and  now,  to  say  a  word 
on  the  importance  of  the  headlight.  I  know  of  no 
more  pleasant  and  satisfactory  adjunct  of  a  camp 
than  a  good  light  that  can  be  adjusted  to  the  head, 
used  as  a  jack  in  floating,  carried  in  the  hand,  or 
fastened  up  inside  the  shanty.  Once  fairly  tried,  it 
will  never  be  ignored  or  forgotten.  Not  that  it  will 
show  a  deer's  head  seventeen  rods  distant  with  suf- 
ficient clearness  for  a  shot — or  your  sights  with 
distinctness  enough  to  make  it.  (See  Murray's  Adi- 
rondacks,  page  174.) 

A  headlight  that  will  show  a  deer  plainly  at  six 
rods,  while  lighting  the  sights  of  a  rifle  with  clearness, 
is  an  exceptionally  good  light.  More  deer  are  killed 
In    floating    under    than    over    four    rods.     There    are 


68  WOODCRAFT 

various  styles  of  headlights,  jack-lamps,  etc.,  in  use. 
They  are  bright,  easily  adjusted,  and  will  show  rifle 
sights,  or  a  deer,  up  to  100  feet— which  is  enough. 
They  are  also  convenient  in  camp,  and  better  than  a 
lantern  on  a  dim  forest  path. 

Before  leaving  the  subject  of  bait-fishing.  I  have 
a  point  or  two  I  wish  to  make.  I  have  attempted  to 
explain  the  frog-bait,  and  (he  manner  of  using  it,  and 
1  shall  probably  never  have  occasion  to  change  my 
belief  that  it  is,  on  the  whole,  the  most  killing  lure 
for  the  entire  tribes  of  bass  and  pickerel.  There  is 
however,  another,  which,  if  properly  handled,  is  al- 
most as  good.     It  is  as  follows: 

Take  a  bass,  pickerel,  or  yellow  perch,  of  one 
pound  or  less;  scrape  the  scales  clean  on  the  under 
side  from  the  caudal  fin  to  a  point  just  forward  of  the 
vent. 

Next,  with  a  sharp  knife,  cut  up  toward  the 
backbone,  commencing  just  behind  the  vent  with  a 
slant  toward  the  tail.  Run  the  knife  smoothly  along 
just  under  the  backbone,  and  out  through  the  caudal 
fin,  taking  about  one-third  of  the  latter,  and  making 
a  clean,  white  bait,  with  the  anal  and  part  of  the 
caudal  by  way .  of  fins.  It  looks  very  like  a  white 
minnow  in  the  water;  but  is  better,  in  that  it  is  more 
showy,  and  infinitely  tougher.  A  minnow  soon  drags 
to  pieces.  To  use  it,  two  strong  hooks  are  tied  on  a 
wire  snell  at  right  angles,  the  upper  one  an  inch 
above  the  lower,  and  the  upper  hook  is  passed 
through  the  bait,  leaving  it  to  draw  without  turning 
or  spinning.  The  casting  and  handling  is  the  same 
as  with  the  frog-bait,  and  it  is  very  killing  for  bass, 


SWIVEL3  AND  SNELLS  69 

pickerel,  and  mascalonge.  It  is  a  good  lure  for  sal- 
mon trout  also;  but,  for  him  it  was  found  better  to 
fasten  the  bait  with  the  lower  hook  in  a  way  to  give 
it  a  spinning  motion;  and  this  necessitates  the  use  of 
a  swivel,  which  I  do  not  like;  because,  "a  rope  is  a9 
strong  as  its  weakest  part;"  and  I  have  more  than 
once  found  that  weakest  part  the  swivel.  If,  however, 
a  swivel  has  been  tested  by  a  dead  lift  of  twenty  to 
twenty-five  pounds,  it  will  do  to  trust. 

I  have  spoken  only  of  brass  or  copper  wire  for 
snells,  and  for  pickerel  or  mascalonge  of  large  size 
nothing  else  is  to  be  depended  on.  But  for  trout 
and  bass,  strong  gut  or  gimp  is  safe  enough.  The 
possibilities  as  to  size  of  the  mascalonge  and  North- 
ern pickerel  no  man  knows.  Frank  Forester  thinks 
it  probable  that  the  former  attains  to  the  weight  of 
sixty  to  eighty  pounds,  while  he  only  accords  the 
pickerel  a  weight  of  seventeen  to  eighteen  pounds. 
I  have  seen  several  pickerel  of  over  forty  pounds, 
and  one  that  turned  the  scale  at  fifty-three.  And 
I  saw  a  mascalonge  on  Georgian  Bay  that  was  longer 
than  the  Canuck  guide  who  was  toting  the  fish  over 
his  shoulder  by  a  stick  thrust  in  the  mouth  and  gills. 
The  snout  reached  to  the  top  of  the  guide's  head, 
while  the  caudal  fin  dragged  on  the  ground.  Tk.*re 
was  no  chance  for  weighing  the  fish,  but  I  hefted  him 
several  times,  carefully,  and  am  certain  he  weighed 
more  than  a  bushel  of  wheat.  Just  what  tackle 
would  be  proper  for  such  a  powerful  fellow  I  am  not 
prepared  to  say,  having  lost  the  largest  specimens  I 
ever  hooked.  My  best  mascalonge  weighed  less  than 
twenty  pounds.     My  largest  pickerel  still  less. 


70  WOODCRAFT 

I  will  close  this  discursive  chapter  by  offering  a  bit 
of  advice.  Do  not  go  into  the  woods  on  a  fishing  tour 
without  a  stock  of  well  cleansed  angle-worms.  Keep 
them  in  a  tin  can  partly  filled  with  damp  moss,  and 
in  a  cool  moist  place.  There  is  no  one  variety  of 
bait  that  the  angler  finds  so  constantly  useful  as  the 
worm.  Izaak  Walton  by  no  means  despised  worm 
or  bait-fishing. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


CAMP    COOKERY. — HOW   IT   IS    USUALLY   DONE,    WITH    A   FEW 

SIMPLE  HINTS   ON  PLAIN    COOKING. — COOKING  FIRE 

AND  OUT-DOOR  RANGE 

HE  way  in  which  an  average  party  of 
summer  outers  will  contrive  to  man- 
age— or  mis-manage — the  camp  and 
camp-fire  so  as  to  get  the  greatest 
amouut  of  smoke  and  discomfort  at  the 
least  outlay  of  time  and  force,  is  some- 
thing past  all  understanding,  and  some- 
what aggravating  to  an  old  woodsman 
who  knows  some  better.  But  it  is  just 
as  good  fun  as  the  cynical  O.  W. 
can  ask,  to  see  a  party  of  three  or  four  enthusiastic 
youngsters  organize  the  camp  on  the  first  day  in,  and 
proceed  to  cook  the  first  meal.  Of  course,  every  man 
is  boss,  and  every  one  is  bound  to  build  the  fire,  which 
every  one  proceeds  to  do.  There  are  no  back  logs, 
no  fore  sticks,  and  no  arrangement  for  level  solid 
bases  on  which  to  place  frying-pans,  coffee  pots,  etc. 
But,  there  is  a  sufficiency  of  knots,  dry  sticks,  bark 
and  chunks,  with  some  kindling  at  the  bottom,  and  a 
heavy  volume  of  smoke  working  its  way  through  the 

(71) 


72  WOODCRAFT 

awkward-looking  pile.  Presently  thin  tongues  of  blue 
flame  begin  to  shoot  up  through  the  interstices,  and 
four  brand  new  coffee  pots  are  wriggled  into  level 
positions  at  as  many  different  points  on  the  bonfire. 
Four  hungry  youngsters  commence  slicing  ham  and 
pork,  four  frying-pans  are  brought  out  from  as  many 
hinged  and  lidded  soap  boxes — when  one  man  yells 
out  hurriedly,  "Look  out,  Joe,  there's  your  coffee  pot 
handle  coming  off."  And  he  drops  his  frying-pan  to 
save  his  coffee  pot,  which  he  does,  minus  the  spout 
and  handle.  Then  it  is  seen  that  the  flames  have  in- 
creased rapidly,  and  all  the  pots  are  in  danger.  A 
short,  sharp  skirmish  rescues  them,  at  the  expense 
of  some  burned  fingers,  and  culinary  operations  are 
the  order  of  the  hour. 

Coffee  and  tea  are  brewed  with  the  loss  of  a  handle 
or  two,  and  the  frying-pans  succeed  in  scorching  the 
pork  and  ham  to  an  unwholesome  black  mess.  The 
potato  kettle  does  better.  It  is  not  easy  to  spoil 
potatoes  by  cooking  them  in  plenty  of  boiling  water; 
and,  as  there  is  plenty  of  bread  with  fresh  butter,  not 
to  mention  canned  goods,  the  hungry  party  feed  suf- 
ficiently, but  not  satisfactorily.  Everything  seems 
pervaded  with  smoke.  The  meat  is  scorched  bitter, 
and  the  tea  is  of  the  sort  described  by  Charles  Dudley 
Warner,  in  his  humorous  description  of  "Camping 
Out":  "The  sort  of  tea  that  takes  hold,  lifts  the  hair> 
and  disposes  the  drinker-  to  hilariousness.  There  is 
no  deception  about  it,  it  tastes  of  tannin,  and  spruce, 
and  creosote."  Of  the  cooking  he  says:  "Everything 
has  been  cooked  in  a  tin  pail  and  a  skillet — potatoes, 
tea,  pork,  mutton,  slapjacks.     You  wonder  how  every- 


TH£  BILL  OF  FARE  73 

thing  would  have  been  prepared  in  so  few  utensils. 
When  you  eat,  the  wonder  ceases,  everything  might 
have  been  cooked  in  one  pail.  It  is  a  noble  meal. 
*  *  *  The  slapjacks  are  a  solid  job  of  work,  made 
to  last,  and  not  go  to  pieces  in  a  person's  stomach 
like  a  trivial  bun." 

I  have  before  me  a  copy  of  Forest  and  Stream,  in 
which  the  canoe  editor,  under  the  heading  of  "The 
Galley  Fire,"  has  some  remarks  well  worth  quoting. 
He  says:  "The  question  of  camp  cookery  is  one  of 
the  greatest  importance  to  all  readers  of  Forest  and 
Stream,  but  most  of  all  to  the  canoeists.  From  ignor- 
ance of  what  to  carry  the  canoeist  falls  back  on 
canned  goods,  never  healthy  as  a  steady  diet,  Bruns- 
wick soup  and  eggs.  *  *  *  The  misery  of  that  first 
camp-fire,  who  has  forgotten  it?  Tired,  hungry,  per- 
haps cold  and  wet,  the  smoke  everywhere,  the  coffee 
pot  melted  down,  the  can  of  soup  upset  in  the  fire,  the 
fiendish  conduct  of  frying-pan  and  kettle,  the  final  sur- 
render of  the  exhausted  victim,  sliding  off  to  sleep  with 
a  piece  of  hardtack  in  one  hand  and  a  slice  of  canned 
beef  in  the  other,  only  to  dream  of  mother's  hot 
biscuits,  juicy  steaks,  etc.,  etc."  It  is  very  well  put, 
and  so  true  to  the  life.  And  again:  "Frying,  bak- 
ing, making  coffee,  stews,  plain  biscuits,  the  neat  and 
speedy  preparation  of  a  healthy  'square  meal'  can  be 
easily  learned."  Aye,  and  should  be  learned  by 
every  man  who  goes  to  the  woods  with  or  without  a 
canoe. 

But,  I  was  describing  a  first  day's  camping  out,  the 
party  being  four  young  men  and  one  old  woodsman, 
the  latter  going  along  in  a  double  character  of  invited 


74  WOODCRAFT 

guest  and  amateur  guide.  When  the  boys  are  through 
with  their  late  dinner,  they  hustle  the  greasy  frying- 
pans  and  demoralized  tinware  into  a  corner  of  the 
shanty,  and  get  out  their  rods  for  an  evening's  fishing. 
They  do  it  hurriedly,  almost  feverishly,  as  youngsters 
are  apt  to  do  at  the  start.  The  O.  W.  has  taken  no 
part  in  the  dinner,  and  has  said  nothing  save  in  re- 
sponse to  direct  questions,  nor  has  he  done  anything 
to  keep  up  his  reputation  as  a  woodsman,  except  to 
see  that  the  shelter  roof  is  properly  put  up  and  fast- 
ened. Having  seen  to  this,  he  reverts  to  his  favorite 
pastime,  sitting  on  a  log  and  smoking  navy  plug. 
Long  experience  has  taught  him  that  it  is  best  to  let 
the  boys  effervesce  a  little.  They  will  slop  over  a 
trifle  at  first,  but  twenty-four  hours  will  settle  them. 
When  they  are  fairly  out  of  hearing,  he  takes  the  old 
knapsack  from  the  clipped  limb  where  it  has  been 
hung,  cuts  a  slice  of  ham,  butters  a  slice  of  bread, 
spreads  the  live  coals  and  embers,  makes  a  pot  of 
strong  green  tea,  broils  the  ham  on  a  three-pronged 
birch  fork,  and  has  a  clean,  well-cooked  plain  dinner. 
Then  he  takes  the  sharp  three-pound  camp  axe,  and 
fells  a  dozen  small  birch  and  ash  trees,  cutting  them 
into  proper  lengths  and  leaving  them  for  the  boys  to 
tote  into  camp.  Next,  a  bushy,  heavy-topped  hem- 
lock is  felled,  and  the  O.  W.  proceeds  leisurely  to  pick 
a  heap  of  fine  hemlock  browse.  A  few  handfuls  suf- 
fice to  stuff  the  muslin  pillow  bag,  and  the  rest  is  care- 
fully spread  on  the  port  side  of  the  shanty  for  a  bed. 
The  pillow  is  placed  at  the  head,  and  the  old  Mack- 
inac blanket-bag  is  spread  neatly  over  all,  as  a  token 
of  ownei'ship  and  possession.     If  the  youngsters  want 


CAMP  FURNITURE  75 

beds  of  fine,   elastic  browse,  let  'em  make  their  own 
beds. 

No  camp-fire  should  be  without  poker  and  tongs. 
The  poker  is  a  beech  stick  four  feet  long  by  two 
inches  thick,  flattened  at  one  end,  with  a  notch  cut 
in  it  for  lifting  kettles,  etc.  To  make  the  tongs,  take 
a  tough  beech  or  hickory  stick,  one  inch  thick  by  two 
feet  in  length,  shave  it  down  nearly  one-half  for  a 
foot  in  the  center,  thrust  this  part  into  hot  embers 
until  it  bends  freely,  bring  the  ends  together  and 
whittle  them  smoothly  to  a  fit  on  the  inside,  cross- 
checking them  also  to  give  them  a  grip;  finish  off  by 
chamfering  the  ends  neatly  from  the  outside.  They 
will  be  found  exceedingly  handy  in  rescuing  a  bit  of 
tinware,  a  slice  of  steak  or  ham,  or  any  small  article 
that  happens  to  get  dropped  in  a  hot  fire. 

And  don't  neglect  the  camp  broom.  It  is  made  by 
laying  bushy  hemlock  twigs  around  a  light  handle, 
winding  them  firmly  with  strong  twine  or  moose  wood 
bark,  and  chopping  off  the  ends  of  the  twigs  evenly. 
It  can  be  made  in  ten  minutes.  Use  it  to  brush  any 
leaves,  sticks,  and  any  litter  from  about  the  camp 
or  fire.  Neatness  is  quite  as  pleasant  and  wholesome 
around  the  forest  camp  as  in  the  home  kitchen. 
These  little  details  may  seem  trivial  to  the  reader. 
But  remember,  if  there  is  a  spot  on  earth  where 
trifles  make  up  the  sum  of  human  enjoyment,  it  is  to 
be  found  in  a  woodland  camp.  All  of  which  the  O. 
W.  fully  appreciates,  as  he  finishes  the  above  little 
jobs;  after  which  he  proceeds  to  spread  the  fire  to  a 
broad  level  bed  of  glowing  embers,  nearly  covering 
the    same   with    small    pieces    of    hemlock   bark,    that 


76  WOODCRAFT 

the   boys   may    have    a    decent   cooking    fire    on    their 
return. 

About  sundown  they  come  straggling  in,  not  jubi- 
lant and  hilarious,  footsore  rather  and  a  little  cross. 
The  effervescence  is  subsiding,  and  the  noise  is  pretty 
well  knocked  out  of  them.  They  have  caught  and 
dressed  some  three  score  of  small  brook  trout,  which 
they  deposit  beside  the  shanty,  and  proceed  at  once 
to  move  on  the  fire,  with  evident  intent  of  raising  a 
conflagration,  but  are  checked  by  the  O.  W.,  who 
calls  their  attention  to  the  fact  that  for  all  culinary 
purposes,  the  fire  is  about  as  near  the  right  thing  as 
they  are  likely  to  get  it.  Better  defer  the  bonfire 
until  after  supper.  Listening  to  the  voice  of  en- 
lightened woodcraft,  they  manage  to  fry  trout  and 
make  tea  without  scorch  or  creosote,  and  the  supper 
is  a  decided  improvement  on  the  dinner.  But  the 
dishes  are  piled  away  as  before,  without  washing. 

Then  follows  an  hour  of  busy  work,  bringing  wood 
to  camp  and  packing  browse.  The  wood  is  sufficient; 
but  the  browse  is  picked,  or  cut,  all  too  coarse,  and 
there  is  only  enough  of  it  to  make  the  camp  look 
green  and  pleasant — not  enough  to  rest  weary 
shoulders  and  backs.  But,  they  are  sound  on  the 
bonfire.  They  pile  on  the  wood  in  the  usual  way, 
criss-cross  and  haphazard.  It  makes  a  grand  fire, 
and  lights  up  the  forest  for  fifty  yards  around,  and 
the  tired  youngsters  turn  in.  Having  the  advantage 
of  driving  a  team  to  the  camping  ground,  they  are 
well  supplied  with  blankets  and  robes.  They  ought 
to  sleep  soundly,  but  they  don't.  The  usual  draw- 
backs of  a  first  night  in  camp  are  soon  manifested  in 


THE  FIRST  NIGHT  77 

uneasy  twistings  and  turnings,  grumbling  at  stubs, 
knots,  and  sticks,  that  utterly  ignore  conformity  with 
the  angles  of  the  human  frame.  But  at  last,  tired 
nature  asserts  her  supremacy,  and  they  sleep.  Sleep 
soundly,  for  a  couple  of  hours;  when  the  bonfire 
having  reached  the  point  of  disintegration,  suddenly 
collapses  with  a  sputtering  and  crackling  that  brings 
them  to  their  head's  antipodes,  and  four  dazed, 
sleepy  faces,  look  out  with  a  bewildered  air,  to  see 
what  has  caused  the  rumpus.  All  take  a  hand  in 
putting  the  brands  together  and  re-arranging  the 
fire,  which  burns  better  than  at  first;  some  sleepy 
talk,  one  or  two  feeble  attempts  at  a  smoke,  and  they 
turn  in  again.  But,  there  is  not  an  hour  during  the 
remainder  of  the  night  in  which  some  one  is  not  pot- 
tering about  the  fire. 

The  O.  W.(  who  has  abided  by  his  blanket-bag  all 
night— quietly  taking  in  the  fun— rouses  out  the 
party  at  4  A.  M.  For  two  of  them  are  to  fish  Asaph 
Run  with  bait,  and  the  other  two  are  to  try  the  riffles 
of  Marsh  Creek  with  the  fly.  As  the  wood  is  all 
burned  to  cinders  and  glowing  coals,  there  is  no 
chance  for  a  smoky  fire;  and,  substituting  coffee  for 
tea,  the  breakfast  is  a  repetition  of  the  supper. 

By  sunrise  the  boys  are  off,  and  the  0.  W.  has  the 
camp  to  himself.  He  takes  it  leisurely,  gets  up  a 
neat  breakfast  of  trout,  bread,  butter,  and  coffee, 
Cleans  and  puis  away  bis  disbes,  has  a  smoke,  and 
picks  up  the  camp  axe.  Selecting  a  bushy  hemlock 
fifteen  inches  across,  he  lets  it  down  in  as  many  min- 
utes, trims  it  to  the  very  tip,  piles  the  limbs  in  a  heap, 
aud  cuts  tbree  lengths  of  six  feet  each  from  the  butt. 


78  WOODCRAFT 

This    insures    browse    and    back    logs    for    some    time 
ahead.      Two    strong    stakes    are    cut    and    sharpened. 
Four    small    logs,    two    of    eight    and    two    of    nine 
feet  in  length,  are  prepared,  plenty  of  night  wood  is 
made   ready,  a  supply  of  bright,  dry  hemlock  bark  is 
carried  to  camp,  and  the  O.  W.  rests  from  his  labors, 
resuming  his  favorite  pastime  of  sitting  on  a  log  and 
smoking  navy  plug.     Finally  it  occurs  to  him  that  he 
is  there  partly  as   guide  and  mentor  to   the   younger 
men,  and  that  they  need  a  lesson  on  cleanliness.     He 
brings    out   the    frying-pans   and   finds   a   filthy-looking 
mess  of  grease  in  each  one,   wherein  ants,   flies,   and 
other   insects  have   contrived  to  get  mixed.     Does  he 
heat  some  water,  and  clean  and  scour  the  pans?     Not 
if  he  knows  himself.     If  he  did  it  once  he  might  keep 
on   doing   it.     He   is   cautious   about   establishing   pre- 
cedents,   and    he    has    a    taste    for    entomology.       He 
places    the    pans    in    the    sun    where    the    grease    will 
soften    and    goes    skirmishing    for    ants    and    doodle 
bugs.     They  are  not  far  to  seek,  and  he  soon  has  a 
score  of  large  black  ants,  with  a  few  bugs  and  spiders, 
pretty  equally  distributed  among  the  frying-pans.     To 
give  the  thing  a  plausible  look  a  few  flies  are  added, 
and  the  two  largest  pans  are  finished  off,  one  with  a 
large  earwig,  the  other  with  a  thousand-legged  worm. 
The  pans  are  replaced  in  the  shanty,  the  embers  are 
leveled  and  nearly  covered  with  bits  of  dry  hemlock 
bark,  and  the  O.  W.  resumes  his  pipe  and  log. 

"With  such  a  face  of  Christian  satisfaction, 

As  good  men  wear,  who  have  done  a  virtuous  action." 

Before  noon  the  boys  are  all  in,  and  as  the  catch  is 


CLEAN  DISHES  79 

twice  as  numerous  and  twice  as  large  as  on  the  pre- 
vious evening,  and  as  the  weather  is  all  that  could  be 
asked  of  the  longest  days  in  June,  they  are  in  ex- 
cellent spirits.  The  boxes  are  brought  out,  pork  is 
sliced,  a  can  of  Indian  meal  comes  to  the  front,  and 
they  go  for  the  frying-pans. 

"Holy  Moses!  Look  here.  Just  see  the  ants  and 
bugs." 

Second  Man. — "Well,  I  should  say!  I  can  see  your 
ants  and  bugs,  and  go  you  an  earwig  better." 

Third  Man  (inverting  his  pan  spitefully  over  the 
fire). — ''D — n  'em,  I'll  roast  the  beggars." 

Bush  D.  (who  is  something  of  a  cook  and  woods- 
man) 'Boys,  I'll  take  the  pot.  I've  got  a  thousand- 
legged  worm  at  the  head  of  a  pismire  flush,  and  it 
serves  us  right,  for  a  lot  of  slovens.  Dishes  should 
be  cleaned  as  often  as  they  are  used.  Now  let's  scour 
our  pans  and  commence  right." 

Hot  water,  ashes,  and  soap  soon  restore  the  pans 
to  pristine  brightness;  three  frying-pans  are  filled 
with  trout  well  rolled  in  meal;  a  fourth  is  used  for 
cooking  a  can  of  tomatoes;  the  coffee  is  strong,  and 
everything  comes  out  without  being  smoked  or 
scorched.  The  trout  are  browned  to  a  turn,  and 
even  the  O.  W.  admits  that  the  dinner  is  a  success. 
When  it  is  over  the  dishes  are  cleaned  and  put  away, 
and  the  camp  slicked  up,  there  comes  the  usual  two 
hours  of  lounging,  smoking,  and  story  telling,  so  dear 
to  the  hearts  of  those  who  love  to  go  a-fishing  and 
camping.  At  length  there  is  a  lull  in  the  conversa- 
tion,  and   Bush   D.   turns   to   the  old  woodsman   with, 


80  WOODCRAFT 

'I  thought,  'Uncle  Mart,'  you  were  going  to  show  us 
fellows  such  a  lot  of  kinks  about  camping  out,  camp- 
fires,  cooking,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  isn't  it  about 
time  to  begin?  Strikes  me  you  have  spent  most  of  the 
last  twenty-four  hours  holding  down  that  log." 

"Except  cutting  some  night  wood  and  tending  the 
fire,"  adds  number  two. 

The  old  woodsman,  who  has  been  rather  silent  up 
to  this  time,  knocks  the  ashes  leisurely  from  his  pipe, 
and  gets  on  his  feet  for  a  few  remarks.  He  says, 
"Boys,  a  bumblebee  is  biggest  when  it's  first  born. 
You've  learned  more  than  you  think  in  the  last 
twenty-four  hours." 

"Well,  as  how?     Explain  yourself,"  says  Bush  D. 

O.  W.— "In  the  first  place,  you  have  learned 
better  than  to  stick  your  cooking-kit  into  a  tumbled 
down  heap  of  knots,  mulch  and  wet  bark,  only  to 
upset  and  melt  down  the  pots,  and  scorch  or  smoke 
everything  in  the  pans,  until  a  starving  hound 
wouldn't  eat  the  mess.  And  you  have  found  that  it 
doesn't  take  a  log  heap  to  boil  a  pot  of  coffee  or  fry  a 
pan  of  trout.  Also,  that  a  level  bed  of  live  coals 
makes  an  excellent  cooking  fire,  though  I  will  show 
you  a  better.  Yesterday  you  cooked  the  worst  meal 
I  ever  saw  in  the  woods.  Today  you  get  up  a  really 
good,  plain  dinner;  you  have  learned  that  much  in 
one  day.  Oh,  you  improve  some.  And  I  think  you 
have  taken  a  lesson  in  cleanliness  today." 

"Yes;  but  we  learned  that  of  the  ant — and  bug," 
says  number  two. 

O.  W. — "Just  so.  And  did  you  think  all  the  ants 
and    doodle-bugs    blundered    into    that    grease    in    one 


THEIR  LESSON  81 

morning?  I  put  'em  in  myself — to  give  you  a 
'kink.' " 

Bush  D.  (disgusted). — "You  blasted,  dirty  old  sin- 
ner." 

Second  Man. — "Oh,  you  miserable  old  swamp  sav- 
age;   I  shan't  get  over  that  earwig  in  a  month." 

Third  Man  (plaintively). — "This  life  in  the  woods 
isn't  what  it's  cracked  up  to  be;  I  don't  relish  bugs 
and  spiders.  I  wish  I  were  home.  I'm  all  bitten  up 
with  punkies,  and " 

Fourth  Man  (savagely). — "Dashed  old  woods-loafer; 
let's  tie  his  hands  and  fire  him  in  the  creek." 

O.  W.  (placidly). — "Exactly,  boys.  Your  remarks 
are  terse,  and  to  the  point.  Only,  as  I  am  going  to 
show  you  a  trick  or  two  on  woodcraft  this  afternoou, 
you  can  afford  to  wait  a  little.  Now,  quit  smoking, 
and  get  out  your  hatchets;    we'll  go  to  work." 

Three  hatchets  are  brought  to  light;  one  of  them 
a  two-pound  clumsy  hand-axe,  the  others  of  an  old 
time,  Mt.  Vernon,  G.  W.  pattern.  "And  now,"  says 
good-natured  Bush,  "you  give  directions  and  we'll  do 
the  work." 

Under  directions,  the  coarse  browse  of  the  previous 
night  is  placed  outside  the  shanty;  three  active 
youngsters,  on  hands  and  knees,  feel  out  and  cut  off 
every  offending  stub  and  root  inside  the  shanty,  until 
it  is  smooth  as  a  floor.  The  four  small  logs  are 
brought  to  camp;  the  two  longest  are  laid  at  the  sides 
and  staked  in  place;  the  others  are  placed,  one  at  the 
head,  the  other  at  the  foot,  also  staked;  and  the  camp 
has  acquired  definite  outlines,  and  a  measurable  size 
of   eight   by   nine   feet.     Three   hemlock  logs  and   two 


82  WOODCRAFT 

sharpened  stakes  are  toted  to  camp;  the  stakes  driven 
firmly,  and  the  logs  laid  against  them,  one  above  the 
other.  Fire-dogs,  forestick,  etc.,  complete  the 
arrangement,  and  the  camp-fire  is  in  shape  for  the 
coming  night,  precisely  as  shown  in  the  engraving  on 
page  47. 

"And  now,"  says  the  O.  W.,  "if  three  of  you  will 
go  down  to  the  flat  and  pick  the  browse  clean  from 
the  two  hemlock  tops,  Bush  and  I  will  fix  a  cooking- 
range." 

"A — what?"  asks  one. 

"Going  to  start  a  boarding-house?"  says  another. 

"Notion  of  going  into  the  hardware  business?"  sug- 
gests a  third. 

"Never  mind,  sonny;  just  'tend  to  that  browse,  and 
when  you  see  a  smoke  raising  on  the  flat  by  the 
spring,  come  over  and  see  the  range."  And  the  boys, 
taking  a  couple  of  blankets  in  which  to  carry  the 
browse,  saunter  away  to  the  flat  below. 

A  very  leisurely  aesthetic,  fragrant  occupation  is 
this  picking  browse.  It  should  never  be  cut,  but 
pulled,  stripped  or  broken.  I  have  seen  a  Senator, 
ex-Governor,  and  a  wealthy  banker  enjoying  them- 
selves hugely  at  it,  varying  the  occupation  by  hacking 
small  timber  with  their  G.  W.  hatchets,  like  so  many 
boys  let  loose  from  school.  It  may  have  looked  a 
trifle  undignified,  but  I  dare  say  they  found  their 
account  in  it.  Newport  or  Long  Branch  would  have 
been    more   expensive,    and    much    less   healthful. 

For  an  hour  and  a  half  tongues  and  fingers  are 
busy  around  the  hemlock  tops;  then  a  thin,  long 
volume  of  blue  smoke  rises  near  the  spring,  and  the 


G.   W.   HATCHET 


83 


0.   W.   HATCHET. 


84  WOODCRAFT 

boys  walk  over  to  inspect  the  range.  They  find  it 
made  as  follows:  Two  logs  six  feet  long  and  eight 
inches  thick  are  laid  parallel,  but  seven  inches  apart 
at  one  end  and  only  four  at  the  other.  They  are 
bedded  firmly  and  flattened  a  little  on  the  inside.  On 
the  upper  sides  the  logs  are  carefully  hewed  and 
leveled  until  pots,  pans  and  kettles  will  sit  firmly  and 
evenly  on  them.  A  strong  forked  stake  is  driven  at 
each  end  of  the  space,  and  a  cross-pole,  two  or  three 
inches  thick,  laid  on,  for  hanging  kettles.  This  com- 
pletes the  range;  simple,  but  effective.  (See  illus- 
tration.) The  broad  end  of  the  space  is  for  frying- 
pans,  and  the  potato  kettle.  The  narrow  end,  for 
coffee-pots  and  utensils  of  lesser  diameter.  From 
six  to  eight  dishes  can  be  cooked  at  the  same  time. 
Soups,  stews,  and  beans  are  to  be  cooked  in  closely 
covered  kettles  hung  from  the  cross-pole,  the  bottoms 
of  the  kettles  reaching  within  some  two  inches  of  the 
logs.  With  a  moderate  fire  they  may  be  left  to  sim- 
mer for  hours  without  care  or  attention. 

The  fire  is  of  the  first  importance.  Start  it  with 
fine  kindling  and  clean,  dry,  hemlock  bark.  When 
you  have  a  bright,  even  fire  from  end  to  end  of  the 
space,  keep  it  up  with  small  fagots  of  the  sweetest 
and  most  wholesome  woods  in  the  forest.  These 
are,  in  the  order  named,  black  birch,  hickory,  sugar 
maple,  yellow  birch,  and  red  beech.  The  sticks 
should  be  short,  and  not  over  two  inches  across. 
Split  wood  is  better  than  round.  The  out-door  range 
can  be  made  by  one  man  in  little  more  than  an  hour, 
and  the  camper-out,  who  once  tries  it,  will  never  wish 
to  see  a  "portable  camp-stove"  again. 


THE  COOKING  RANGE 


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iHT-DOOR    COOKING    RANGE 


86  WOODCRAFT 

When  the  sun  leaves  the  valley  In  the  shade  of 
Asaph  Mountain,  the  boys  have  a  fragrant  bed  of 
elastic  browse  a  foot  deep  in  the  shanty,  with  pillows 
improvised  from  stuffed  boot  legs,  cotton  handker- 
chiefs, etc.  They  cook  their  suppers  on  the  range, 
and  vote  it  perfect,  no  melting  or  heating  handles 
too  hot  for  use,  and  no  smoking  of  dishes,  or  faces. 

Just  at  dark — which  means  9  P.  M.  in  the  last,  week 
of  June — the  fire  is  carefully  made  and  chinked.  An 
hour  later  it  is  throwing  its  grateful  warmth  and  light 
directly  into  camp,  and  nowhere  else.  The  camp  turns 
in.  Not  to  wriggle  and  quarrel  with  obdurate  stubs, 
but  to  sleep.  And  sleep  they  do.  The  sound,  deep, 
restful  sleep  of  healthy  young  manhood,  inhaling  pure 
mountain  air  on  the  healthiest  bed  yet  known  to  man. 

When  it  is  past  midnight,  the  fire  burns  low,  and 
the  chill  night  breeze  drifts  into  camp,  they  still  do 
not  rouse  up,  but  only  spoon  closer,  and  sleep  right 
on.  Only  the  O.  W.  turns  out  sleepily,  at  two  bells 
in  the  middle  watch,  after  the  manner  of  hunters, 
trappers  and  sailors,  the  world  over.  He  quietly 
rebuilds  the  fire,  reduces  a  bit  of  navy  plug  to  its 
lowest  denomination,  and  takes  a  solitary  smoke — 
still  holding  down  his  favorite  log.  Quizzically  and 
quietly  he  regards  the  sleeping  youngsters,  and  won- 
ders if  among  them  all  there  is  one  who  will  do  as  he 
has  done,  i.  e.,  relinquish  all  of  what  the  world 
reckons  as  success,  for  the  love  of  nature  and  a  free 
forest  life.  He  hopes  not.  And  yet,  as  he  glances 
at  the  calm  yellow  moon  overhead,  and  listens  to  the 
low  murmur  of  the  little  waterfall  below  the  spring, 
he  has  a  faint  notion  that  it  is  not  all  loss  and  dross. 


GETTING  BREAKFAST  87 

Knocking  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  he  prepares  to 
turn  in,  murmuring  to  himself,  half  sadly,  half  humor- 
ously, "I  have  been  young,  and  now  I  am  old;  yet 
have  I  never  seen  the  true  woodsman  forsaken,  or 
his  seed  begging  bread — or  anything  else,  so  to 
speak — unless  it  might  be  a  little  tobacco  or  a  nip  of 
whisky."  And  he  creeps  into  his  blanket-bag,  backs 
softly  out  to  the  outside  man,  and  joins  the  snorers. 

It  is  broad  daylight  when  he  again  turns  out,  leav- 
ing the  rest  still  sleeping  soundly.  He  starts  a  lively 
fire  in  the  range,  treats  two  coffee  pots  to  a  double 
handful  of  coffee  and  three  pints  of  water  each,  sets  on 
the  potato  kettle,  washes  the  potatoes,  then  sticks  his 
head  into  the  camp,  and  rouses  the  party  with  a 
regular  second  mate's  hail.  "Star-a-ar-bo'lin's  aho- 
o-o-y.  Turn  out,  you  beggars.  Come  on  deck  and 
see  it  rain."  And  the  boys  do  turn  out.  Not  with 
wakeful  alacrity,  but  in  a  dazed,  dreamy,  sleepy  way. 
They  open  wide  eyes,  when  they  see  that  the  sun  is 
turning  the  sombre  tops  of  pines  and  hemlocks  to  a 
soft  orange  yellow. 

"I'd  have  sworn,"  says  one,  "that  I  had'nt  slept 
over  fifteen  minutes  by  the  watch." 

"And  I,"  says  another,  "was  just  watching  the  fire, 
when  I  dropped  off  in  a  doze.  In  about  five  minutes 
I  opened  my  eyes,  and  I'll  be  shot  if  it  wasn't  sun- 
rise." 

"As  for  me,"  says  a  third,  "I  don't  know  as  I've 
slept  at  all.  I  remember  seeing  somebody  poking 
the  first  last  night.  Next  thing  I  knew,  some  lunatic- 
was  yelling  around  camp  about  "starbolin's,"  and 
'turning  out.'  (luess  I'll  lay  down  and  have  my  nap 
out." 


88  WOODCRAFT 

"Yes,"  says  the  O.  W.,  "I  would.  If  I  was  a 
healthy  youngster,  and  couldn't  get  along  with  seven 
hours  and  a  half  of  solid  sleep,  I'd  take  the  next 
forenoon  for  it.  Just  at  present,  I  want  to  remark 
that  I've  got  the  coffee  and  potato  business  under- 
way, and  I'll  attend  to  them.  If  you  want  anything 
else  for  breakfast,  you'll  have  to  cook  it." 

And  the  boys,  rising  to  the  occasion,  go  about  the 
breakfast  with  willing  hands.  It  is  noticeable,  how- 
ever, that  only  one  pan  of  trout  is  cooked,  two  of 
the  youngsters  preferring  to  fall  back  on  broiled  ham, 
remarking  that  brook  trout  is  too  rich  and  cloying 
for  a  steady  diet.  Which  is  true.  The  appetite  for 
trout  has  very  sensibly  subsided,  and  the  boyish 
eagerness  for  trout  fishing  has  fallen  off  immensely. 
Only  two  of  the  party  show  any  interest  in  the  riffles. 
They  stroll  down  stream  leisurely,  to  try  their  flies 
for  an  hour  or  two.  The  others  elect  to  amuse  them- 
selves about  the  camp,  cutting  small  timber  with  their 
little  hatchets,  picking  fresh  browse,  or  skirmishing 
the  mountain  side  for  wintergreen  berries  and  sassa- 
fras. The  fishermen  return  in  a  couple  of  hours, 
with  a  score  of  fair-sized  trout.  They  remark  apolo- 
getically that  it  is  blazing  hot — and  there  are  plenty 
of  trout  ahead.  Then  they  lean  their  rods  against 
the  shanty,  and  lounge  on  the  blankets,  and  smoke 
and  doze. 

It  is  less  than  forty-eight  hours  since  the  cross-pole 
was  laid;  and,  using  a  little  common  sense  woodcraft, 
the  camp  has  already  attained  to  a  systematic  no- 
system  of  rest,  freedom  and  idleness.  Every  man  is 
free    to    ''loaf,    and    invite    his    soul."     There    is    good 


PROGRESS?  89 

Irouting  within  an  hour's  walk  for  those  who  choose, 
and  there  is  some  interest,  with  a  little  exercise,  in 
cooking  and  cutting  night  wood,  slicking  up,  etc. 
But.  the  whole  party  is  stricken  with  "camp-fever," 
"Indian  laziness,"  the  dolce  far  niente.  It  is  over  and 
around  every  man,  enveloping  him  as  with  a  roseate 
blanket  from  the  Castle  of  Indolence. 
It  is  the  perfect  summer  camp. 

And  it  is  no  myth;  but  a  literal  resume  of  a  five 
days'  outing  at  Poplar  Spring,  on  Marsh  Creek,  in 
Pennsylvania.  Alas,  for  the  beautiful  valley,  that 
once  afforded  the  finest  camping  grounds  I  have  ever 
known. 

"Never  any  more 

Can  it  be 

Unto   me    (or   anybody   else) 
As  before." 

A  huge  tannery,  six  miles  above  Poplar  Spring, 
poisons  and  blackens  the  stream  with  chemicals,  bark 
and  ooze.  The  land  has  been  brought  into  mar- 
ket, and  every  acre  eagerly  bought  up  by  actual 
settlers.  The  once  fine  covers  and  thickets  are  con- 
verted into  fields  thickly  dotted  with  blackened 
stumps.  And,  to  crown  the  desolation,  heavy  laden 
trains  of  "The  Pine  Creek  and  Jersey  Shore  R.  R." 
go  thundering  almost  hourly  over  the  very  spot  where 
stood  our  camp  by  Poplar  Spring. 

Of  course,  this  is  progress;  but,  whether  backward 
or  forward,  had  better  be  decided  sixty  years  hence. 
And,  just  what  has  happened  to  the  obscure  valley  of 
Marsh   Creek,   is   happening  today,   on   a   larger  scale, 


90  WOODCRAFT 

all  over  the  land.  It  is  the  same  old  story  of  grab 
and  greed.  Let  us  go  on  the  "make"  today,  and 
"whack  up"  tomorrow;  cheating  each  other  as 
villainously  as  we  may,  and  posterity  be  d — d. 
"What's  all  the  w-u-u-rld  to  a  man  when  his  wife  is 
a  widdy?" 

This  is  the  moral:  From  Maine  to  Montana;  from 
the  Adirondacks  to  Alaska;  from  the  Yosemite  to  the 
Yellowstone,  the  trout-hog,  the  deer-wolf,  the  netter, 
the  skin-hunter,  each  and  all  have  it  their  own  way; 
and  the  law  is  a  farce — only  to  be  enforced  where 
the  game  has  vanished  forever.  Perhaps  the  man- 
child  is  born  who  will  live  to  write  the  moral  of  all 
this — when  it  is  too   late. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MORE   HINTS  OX    COOKING,   WITH    SOME   SIMPLE   RECEIPTS. — 

BREAD,  COFFEE,  POTATOES,   SOUPS,  STEWS,   BEANS, 

FISH,   MEAT,   VENISON. 

"We    may    live    without    friends,    we   may    live    with- 
out books, 
But  civilized  man  cannot  live  without  cooks." 

T  is  probably  true  that  nothing  con- 
nected with  out-door  life  in  camp  is  so 
badly  botched  as  the  cooking.  It  is  not 
through  any  lack  of  the  raw  material, 
which  may  be  had  of  excellent  quality 
in  any  country  village.  It  is  not  from 
lack  of  intelligence  or  education,  for  the 
men  you  meet  in  the  woods,  as  outers 
or  sportsmen,  are  rather  over  than  un- 
*  der  the  average  in  these  respects.  Per- 
haps it  is  because  it  has  been  dinned  into  our  ears 
from  early  childhood,  that  an  appetite,  a  healthy  long- 
ing for  something  good  to  eat,  a  tickling  of  the  palate 
with  wholesome,  appetizing  food,  is  beneath  the  at- 
tention of  an  aesthetic,  intellectual  man.  Forgetting 
that  the  entire  man,  mental  and  physical,  depends  on 
proper   aliment   and   the  healthy  assimilation   thereof; 

(91) 


92  WOODCRAFT 

and  that  a  thin,  dyspeptic  man  can  no  more  keep  up 
in  the  struggle  of  life,  than  the  lightning  express  can 
make  connections,  drawn  by  a  worn  out  locomotive. 
I  have  never  been  able  to  get  much  help  from 
cook-books,  or  the  scores  of  recipes  published  in 
various  works  on  out-door  sport.  Take,  for  example, 
Frank  Forester's  "Fish  and  Fishing."  He  has  more 
than  seventy  recipes  for  cooking  fish,  over  forty  of 
which  contain  terms  or  names  in  French.  I  dare 
say  they  are  good — for  a  first-class  hotel.  I  neither 
cook  or  converse  in  French,  and  I  have  come  to 
know  that  the  plainest  cooking  is  the  best,  so  that  it 
be  well  done  and  wholesome.  In  making  up  the 
rations  for  camping  out,  the  first  thing  usually 
attended  to  is  bread.  And  if  this  be  light,  well-made 
bread,  enough  may  be  taken  along  to  last  four  or 
five  days,  and  this  may  be  eked  out  with  Boston 
crackers,  or  the  best  hard-tack,  for  a  couple  or  three 
days  more,  without  the  least  hardship.  Also,  there 
are  few  camps  in  which  some  one  is  not  going  out  to 
the  clearings  every  few  days  for  mail,  small  stores, 
etc.,  and  a  supply  of  bread  can  be  arranged  for,  with 
less  trouble  than  it  can  be  made.  There  are  times, 
however,  when  this  is  not  feasible,  and  there  are  men 
who  prefer  warm  bread  all  the  time.  In  this  case 
the  usual  resort,  from  Maine  to  Alaska,  is  the  univer- 
sal flapjack.  I  do  not  like  it;  I  seldom  make  it;  it 
is  not  good.  But  it  may  be  eaten,  with  maple  syrup 
or  sugar  and  butter.  I  prefer  a  plain  water  Johnny- 
cake,  made  as  follows  (supposing  your  tins  are  some- 
thing like  those  described  in  Chapter  II.):  Put  a  little 
more  than  a  pint  of  water  in  your  kettle  and  bring  it, 


BREAD  .93 

to  a  sharp  boil,  adding  a  small  teaspoonful  of  salt, 
and  two  of  sugar.  Stir  in  slowly  enough  good  corn 
meal  to  make  a  rather  stiff  mush,  let  it  cook  a  few 
minutes,  ;ind  set  it  off  the  fire;  then  grease  your 
largest  tin  dish  and  put  the  mush  in  it,  smoothing  it 
on  top.  Set  the  dish  on  the  out-door  range  described 
in  the  previous  chapter,  with  a  lively  bed  of  coal 
beneath — but  no  blaze.  Invert  the  second  sized  tin 
over  the  cake,  and  cover  the  dish  with  bright  live 
coals,  that  bottom  and  top  may  bake  evenly,  and 
give  it  from  thirty-five  to  forty  minutes  for  baking. 
It  makes  wholesome,  palatable  bread,  which  gains 
on  the  taste  with  use. 

Those  who  prefer  wheat  bread  can  make  a  passable 
article  by  using  the  best  wheat  flour  with  baking 
powders,  mixing  three  tablespoonfuls  of  the  powders 
to  a  quart  of  flour.  Mix  and  knead  thoroughly  with 
warm  water  to  a  rather  thin  dough,  and  bake  as 
above.  Use  the  same  proportions  for  pancake  batter. 
When  stopping  in  a  permanent  camp  with  plenty  of 
time  to  cook,  excellent  light  bread  may  be  made  by 
using  dry  yeast  cakes,  though  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  "set"  the  sponge  as  directed  on  the  papers. 
Scrape  and  dissolve  half  a  cake  of  the  yeast  in  a  gill 
of  warm  water,  and  mix  it  with  the  flour.  Add  warm 
water  enough  to  make  it  pliable,  and  not  too  stiff; 
set  in  a  warm  place  until  it  rises  sufficiently,  and  bake 
as  directed  above.     It   takes  several  hours  to  rise. 

I  am  afraid  I  shall  discount  my  credit  on  camp 
(••joking  when  I  admit  that — if  I  must  use  fine  flour 
— I  prefer  unleavened  bread;  what,  my  friends  ir- 
reverently   call    "club    bread."     Not    that    it    was    ever 


94  WOODCRAFT 

made  or  endorsed  by  any  club  of  men  that  I  know  of, 
but  because  it  is  baked  on  a  veritable  club,  sassafras 
or  black  birch.  This  is  how  to  make  it:  Cut  a  club 
two  feet  long  and  three  inches  thick  at  the  broadest 
end;  peel  or  shave  off  the  bark  smoothly,  and  sharpen 
the  smaller  end  neatly.  Then  stick  the  sharpened 
end  in  the  ground  near  the  fire,  leaning  the  broad 
end  toward  a  bed  of  live  coals,  where  it  will  get 
screeching  hot.  While  it  is  heating,  mix  rather  more 
than  a  half  pint  of  best  Minnesota  flour  with  enough 
warm  water  to  make  a  dough.  Add  a  half  teaspoon- 
ful  of  salt,  and  a  teaspoonful  of  sugar,  and  mould 
and  pull  the  dough  until  it  becomes  lively.  Now, 
work  it  into  a  ribbon  two  inches  wide  and  half  an 
inch  thick,  wind  the  ribbon  spirally  around  the  broad 
end  of  the  club,  stick  the  latter  in  front  of  the  fire  so 
that  the  bread  will  bake  evenly  and  quickly  to  a  light 
brown,  and  turn  frequently  until  done,  which  will  be 
in  about  thirty  minutes.  When  done  take  it  from  the 
fire,  stand  the  club  firmly  upright,  and  pick  the  bread 
off  in  pieces  as  you  want  it  to  eat.  It  will  keep  hot 
a  long  time,  and  one  soon  becomes  fond  of  it. 

To  make  perfect  coffee,  just  two  ingredients  are 
necessary,  and  only  two.  These  are  water  and  coffee. 
It  is  owing  to  the  bad  management  of  the  latter  that 
wo  drink  poor  coffee. 

There  are  establishments  all  over  the  couutry  that 
make  a  business  of  browning  the  berry,  and  sending 
it.  out  in  barrels  to  the  retail  grocer.  It  is  all  browned 
loo  lightly,  and,  kept  loosely  in  barrels  or  boxes,  it 
loses  what  little  aroma  it  ever  had,  in  a  few  days.  We 
allow  the  grocer  to  run  it  on  us,  because  it  saves  so 


COFFEE  95 

much  bother,  this  having  our  coffee  ready  browned 
and  ground  to  our  hands.  But  it  is  not  the  way  to 
have  good  coffee.  This  can  only  be  had  by  using 
the  fresh  browned,  fresh  ground  berry,  and  plenty  of 
it;  and  it  must  not  be  of  a  light  brown,  as  often 
recommended.  To  brown  it  rightly,  put  a  pound  of 
the  green  berry  into  a  large  spider  over  a  hot  fire,  and 
stir  it  constantly  until  it  turns  vei-y  dark,  with  a 
greasy  appearance  on  the  surface  of  the  berry.  Put 
it  in  a  tight  can  at  once,  if  intended  for  home  use, 
and  grind  as  wanted.  If  intended  for  the  woods, 
grind  it  while  hot,  and  can  it  tightly. 

As  for  the  best  berry,  Mocha  is  generally  conceded 
first  place,  with  Java  a  close  second.  It  is  the  fashion 
at  present  to  mix  the  two  in  proportions  to  suit,  some 
taking  two  parts  Java  to  one  of  Mocha,  others  re- 
versing these  proportions.  Either  way  is  good,  or 
the  Mocha  is  quite  as  good  alone.  But  there  is  a 
better  berry  than  either  for  the  genuine  coffee  toper. 
This  is  the  small,  dark  green  berry  that  comes  to 
market  under  the  generic  name  of  Rio,  that  name 
covering  half  a  dozen  grades  of  coffee  raised  in  dif- 
ferent provinces  of  Brazil,  throughout  a  country  ex- 
tending north  and  south  for  more  than  1,200  miles. 
The  berry  alluded  to  is  produced  along  the  range  of 
high  hills  to  the  westward  of  Bahia,  and  extending 
north  toward  the  Parnahiba.  It  has  never  arrested  at- 
tention as  a  distinct  grade  of  the  article,  but  it  con- 
tains more  coffee  or  caffein  to  the  pound  than  any 
berry  known  to  commerce.  It  is  the  smallest,  heaviest 
and  darkest  green  of  any  coffee  that  comes  to  our 
market    from    Brazil,    and    may    be    known    by    these 


96  WOODCRAFT 

traits.  I  have  tested  it  in  the  land  where  it  is  grown, 
and  nlso  at  home,  for  the  past  sixteen  years,  and  I 
place  it  at  the  head  of  the  list,  with  Mocha  next. 
Either  will  make  perfect  coffee,  if  treated  as  follows: 
Of  the  berry,  browned  and  ground,  as  before  di- 
rected, take  six  heaping  tablespoonfuls,  and  add 
three  pints  of  cold  water;  place  the  kettle  over  the 
fire  and  bring  to  a  sharp  boil;  set  it  a  little  aside 
where  it  will  bubble  and  simmer  until  wanted,  and 
just  before  pouring,  drip  in  a  half  gill  of  cold  water 
to  settle  it.  That  is  all  there  is  to  it.  The  quantity 
of  berry  is  about  twice  as  much  as  usually  given  in 
recipes;  but  if  you  want  coffee,  you  had  better  add 
two  spoonfuls  than  cut  off  one. 

In  1867,  and  again  in  1870,  I  had  occasion  to  visit 
the  West  India  Islands  and  Brazil.  In  common  with 
most  coffee  topers,  I  had  heard  much  of  the  super- 
excellence  ascribed  to  "West  India  coffee"  and  "Bra- 
zilian coffee."  I  concluded  to.  investigate.  I  had 
rooms  at  the  Hotel  d'Europe,  Para,  North  Brazil. 
There  were  six  of  us,  English  and  American  board- 
ers. Every  morning,  before  we  were  out  of  our 
hammocks,  a  barefooted,  half  naked  Mina  negress 
came  around  and  served  each  of  us  with  a  small  cup 
of  strong,  black  coffee,  and  sugar  ad  libitum.  There 
was  not  enough  of  it  for  a  drink;  it  was  rather  in 
the  nature  of  a  medicine,  and  so  intended — "To  kill 
the  biscos,"  they  said.  The  coffee  was  above  criti- 
cism. 

I  went,  in  the  dark  of  a  tropical  morning,  with 
Senor  Joao,  to  the  coffee  factory  where  they  browned 
the   berry,   and  saw  him   buy   a   pound,   smoking  hot, 


HOW  TO  MAKE  IT  97 

for  which  he  paid  twenty-five  cents,  or  quite  as 
much  as  it  would  cost  in  New  York.  In  ten  minutes 
the  coffee  was  at  the  hotel,  and  ground.  This  is  the 
way  they  brewed  it:  A  round-bottomed  kettle  was  sit- 
ting on  the  brick  range,  with  a  half  gallon  of  boiling 
water  in  it.  Over  the  kettle  a  square  piece  of  white 
flannel  was  suspended,  caught  up  at  the  corners  like 
a  dip  net.  In  this  the  coffee  was  placed,  and  a 
small  darky  put  in  his  time  steadily  with  a  soup 
ladle,  dipping  the  boiling  water  from  the  kettle  and 
pouring  it  on  the  coffee.  There  was  a  constant 
stream  percolating  through  coffee  and  cloth,  which, 
in  the  course  of  half  an  hour,  became  almost  black, 
and  clear  as  brandy.  This  was  "Brazilian  coffee." 
As  the  cups  used  were  very  small,  and  as  none  but 
the  Northerners  drank  more  than  one  cup,  I  found 
that  the  hotel  did  not  use  over  two  quarts  of  coffee 
each  morning.  It  struck  me  that  a  pound  of  fresh 
Rio  coffee  berry  ought  to  make  a  half  gallon  of  rather 
powerful  coffee. 

On  my  arrival  home — not  having  any  small  darky 
or  any  convenient  arrangement  for  the  dip  net — I 
had  a  sack  made  of  light,  white  flannel,  holding 
about  one  pint.  In  this  I  put  one-quarter  pound 
of  freshly  ground  berry,  with  water  enough  for  five 
large  cups.  It  was  boiled  thoroughly,  and  proved 
just  as  good  as  the  Brazilian  article,  but  too  strong 
for  any  of  the  family  except  the  writer.  Those  who 
have  a  fancy  for  clear,  strong  "Brazilian  coffee,"  will 
see  how  easily  and  simply  it  can  be  made. 

But,  on  a  heavy  knapsack-and-rifle  tramp  among 
the   mountains,   or   a   lone    canoe   cruise   in    a    strange 


98  WOODCRAFT 

wilderness,  I  do  not  carry  coffee.  I  prefer  tea. 
Often,  when  too  utterly  tired  and  beaten  for  further 
travel,  I  have  tried  coffee,  whisky  or  brandy,  and  a 
long  experience  convinces  me  that  there  is  nothing 
so  restful  and  refreshing  to  an  exhausted  man  as  a 
dish  of  strong,  green  tea.  To  make  it  as  it  should 
be  made,  bring  the  water  to  a  high  boil,  and  let  it 
continue  to  boil  for  a  full  minute.  Set  it  off  the  fire 
and  it  will  cease  boiling;  put  in  a  handful  of  tea, 
and  it  will  instantly  boil  up  again;  then  set  it  near 
the  fire,  where  it  will  simmer  for  a  few  minutes,  when 
it  will  be  ready  for  use.  Buy  the  best  green  tea  you 
can  find,  and  use  it  freely  on  a  hard  tramp.  Black, 
or  Oolong  tea,  is  excellent  in  camp.  It  should  be 
put  in  the  pot  with  cold  water  and  brought  to  the 
boiling  point. 

Almost  any  man  can  cook  potatoes,  but  few  cook 
them  well.  Most  people  think  them  best  boiled  in 
their  jackets,  and  to  cook  them  perfectly  in  this 
manner  is  so  simple  and  easy,  that  the  wonder  is 
how  any  one  can  fail.  A  kettle  of  screeching  hot 
water  with  a  small  handful  of  salt  in  it,  good  pota- 
toes of  nearly  equal  size,  washed  clean  and  clipped 
at  the  ends,  these  are  the  requisites.  Put  the  pota- 
toes in  the  boiling  water,  cover  closely,  and  keep 
the  water  at  high  boiling  pitch  until  you  can  thrust 
a  sharp  sliver  through  the  largest  potato.  Then 
drain  off  the  water,  and  set  the  kettle  in  a  hot  place 
with  the  lid  partly  off.  Take  them  out  only  as  they 
are  wanted;  lukewarm  potatoes  are  not  good.  They 
will  be  found  about  as  good  as  potatoes  can  be, 
when  cooked  in  their  jackets.     But  there   is  a  better 


POTATOES  99 

way,  as  thus:  Select  enough  for  a  mess,  of  smooth, 
sound  tubers;  pare  them  carefully,  taking  off  as  little 
as  possible,  because  the  best  of  the  potato  lies  near- 
est the  skin,  and  cook  as  above.  When  done,  pour 
the  water  off  to  the  last  drop;  sprinkle  a  spoonful  of 
salt  and  fine  cracker  crumbs  over  them;  then  shake 
roll  and  rattle  them  in  the  kettle  until  the  outside* 
are  white  and  floury.  Keep  them  piping  hot  until 
wanted.  It  is  the  way  to  have  perfect  boiled  po- 
tatoes. 

Many  outers  are  fond  of  roast  potatoes  in  camp; 
and  they  mostly  spoil  them  in  the  roasting,  although 
there  is  no  better  place  than  the  camp-fire  in  which 
to  do  it.  To  cook  them  aright,  scoop  out  a  basin- 
like depression  under  the  fore-stick,  three  or  four 
inches  deep,  and  large  enough  to  hold  the  tubers 
when  laid  side  by  side;  fill  it  with  bright,  hard- wood 
coals,  and  keep  up  a  strong  heat  for  half  an  hour  or 
more.  Next,  clean  out  the  hollow,  place  the  pota- 
toes in  it,  and  cover  them  with  hot  sand  or  ashes, 
topped  with  a  heap  of  glowing  coals,  and  keep  up  all 
the  heat  you  like.  In  about  forty  minutes  com- 
mence to  try  them  with  a  sharpened  hard-wood 
sliver;  when  this  will  pass  through  them  they  are 
done,  and  should  be  raked  out  at  once.  Run  the. 
sliver  through  them  from  end  to  end,  to  let  the  steam 
escape,  and  use  immediately,  as  a  roast  potato  quickly 
becomes  soggy  and  bitter.  I  will  add  that,  in  select- 
ing a  supply  of  potatoes  for  camp,  only  the  finest  and 
smoothest  should  be  taken. 

A   man   may   be   a    trout-crank,   he   may   have   been 
looking   forward    for   ten   weary   months    to   the   time 


100  WOODCRAFT 

when  he  is  to  strike  the  much  dreamed  of  mountain 
stream,  where  trout  may  be  taken  and  eaten  without 
stint.     Occasionally — not  often — his  dream   is  realized. 
For  two  or  three  days  he  revels  in  fly-fishing,  and  eat- 
ing brook  trout.     Then  his  enthusiasm  begins  to  sub- 
side.    He   talks   less    of   his    favorite    flies,    and    hints 
that  wading  hour  after  hour   in   ice-water  gives  him 
cramps  in  the  calves  of  his  legs.     Also,  he  finds  that 
brook  trout,  eaten  for  days  in  succession,  pall  on  the 
appetite.     He   hankers    for    the    flesh-pots   of   the    res- 
taurant, and  his  soul  yearns  for  the  bean-pot  of  home. 
Luckily,    some   one    has    brought    a    sack    of    white 
beans,  and   the  expert — there  is  always  an  expert  in 
camp — is    deputed    to    cook    them.      He    accepts    the 
trust,    and    proceeds    to   do    it.      He    puts   a   quart   of 
dry    beans    and   a    liberal    chunk    of    pork    in    a    two- 
quart  kettle,  covers  the  mess  with  water,  and  brings 
it  to  a  rapid  boil.     Presently  the  beans  begin  to  swell 
and  lift  the  lid  of  the  kettle;   their    conduct  is  simply 
demoniacal.       They    lift    up    the    lid    of    the    kettle, 
they  tumble  out  over  the  rim  in  a  way  to  provoke  a 
saint,    and    they    have    scarcely    begun    to    cook.     The 
expert  is  not  to  be  beaten.     As   they  rise,  he  spoons 
them  out  and  throws  them  away,  until  half  of  the  best 
beans   being  wasted,    the   rest   settle   to  business.     He 
fills  the  kettle  with  water  and  watches  it  for  an  hour. 
When  bean-skins  and  scum  arise  he  uses  the   spoon; 
and  when  a  ring  of  greasy  salt  forms  around  the  rim 
of  the  kettle,  he  carefully  scrapes  it  off,  but  most  of  it 
drops    back    into    the    pot.      When    the    beans    seem 
cooked  to  the  point  of  disintegration,  he  lifts  off  the 
kettle,   and    announces    dinner.     It    is    not    a    success. 


BEANS  101 

The  largest  beans  are  granulated  rather  than  cooked, 
while  the  mealy  portion  of  them  has  fallen  to  the 
bottom  of  the  kettle,  and  become  scorched  thereon, 
and  the  smaller  beans  are  too  hard  to  be  eatable. 
The  liquid,  that  should  be  palatable  bean  soup,  is 
greasy  salt  water,  and  the  pork  is  half  raw.  The 
party  falls  back,  hungry  and  disgusted.  Even  if  the 
mess  were  well  cooked,  it  is  too  salt  for  eating.  And 
why  should  this  be  so?  Why  should  any  sensible 
man  spend  years  in  acquiring  an  education  that  shall 
fit  him  for  the  struggle  of  life,  yet  refuse  to  spend  a 
single  day  in  learning  how  to  cook  the  food  that  must 
sustain  the  life?  It  is  one  of  the  conundrums  no  one 
will  ever  find  out. 

There  is  no  article  of  food  more  easily  carried,  and 
none  that  contains  more  nourishment  to  the  pound, 
than  the  bean.  Limas  are  usually  preferred,  but  the 
large  white  marrow  is  just  as  good.  It  will  pay  to 
select  them  carefully.  Keep  an  eye  on  grocery 
stocks,  and  when  you  strike  a  lot  of  extra  large,  clean 
beans,  buy  twice  as  many  as  you  need  for  camp  use. 
Spread  them  on  a  table,  a  quart  at  a  time,  and  you 
will  go  to  the  side  of  the  largest  and  finest,  and  these 
the  largest  and  best  from  the  others.  Fully  one-half 
will  go  to  the  side  of  the  largest  and  finest,  and  these 
may  be  put  in  a  muslin  bag,  and  kept  till  wanted. 
Select  the  expeditionary  pork  with  equal  care,  buy- 
ing nothing  but  thick,  solid,  "clear,"  with  a  pink 
tinge.  Reject  that  which  is  white  and  lardy.  With 
such  material,  if  you  cannot  lay  over  Boston  baked 
beans,  you  had  better  sweep  the  cook  out  of  camp. 

This  is  how  to  cook  them:      Put  a  pound  or  a  little 


102  WOODCRAFT 

more  of  clean  pork  in  the  kettle,  with  water  enough  to 
cover  it.  Let  it  boil  slowly  half  an  hour.  In  the 
meantime,  wash  and  parboil  one  pint  of  beans. 
Drain  the  water  from  the  pork  and  place  the  beans 
around  it;  add  two  quarts  of  water  and  hang  the  ket- 
tle where  it  will  boil  steadily,  but  not  rapidly,  for  two 
hours.  Pare  neatly  and  thinly  five  or  six  medium 
sized  potatoes,  and  allow  them  from  thirty  to  forty 
minutes  (according  to  size  and  variety),  in  which  to 
cook.  They  must  be  pressed  down  among  the  beans 
so  as  to  be  entirely  covered.  If  the  beans  be  fresh 
and  fine  they  will  probably  fall  to  pieces  before  time 
is  up.  This,  if  they  are  not  allowed  to  scorch,  makes 
them  all  the  better.  If  a  portion  of  pork  be  left 
over,  it  is  excellent  sliced  very  thin  when  cold,  and 
eaten  with  bread.  The  above  is  a  dinner  for  three 
or  four  hungry  men. 

It  is  usually  the  case  that  some  of  the  party  prefer 
baked  beans.  To  have  these  in  perfection,  add  one 
gill  of  raw  beans  and  a  piece  of  pork  three  inches 
square  to  the  foregoing  proportions.  Boil  as  above, 
until  the  beans  begin  to  crack  open;  then  fork  out  the 
smaller  piece  of  pork,  place  it  in  the  center  of  your 
largest  cooking  tin,  take  beans  enough  from  the  ket- 
tle to  nearly  fill  the  tin,  set  it  over  a  bright  fire  on 
the  range,  invert  the  second  sized  tin  for  a  cover, 
place  live,  hard-wood  coals  on  top,  and  bake  precisely 
as  directed  for  bread — only,  when  the  coals  on  top 
become  dull  and  black;  brush  them  off,  raise  the 
cover,  and  take  a  look.  If  the  beans  are  getting  too 
dry,  add  three  or  four  spoonfuls  of  liquor  from  the 
kettle,    replace    cover    and    coals,    and   let   them    bake 


BAKED  BEANS  103 

until  they  are  of  a  rich  light  brown  on  top.  Then 
serve.  It  is  a  good  dish.  If  Boston  can  beat  it, 
I  don't  want  to  lay  up  anything  for  old  age. 

Brown  bread  and  baked  beans  have  a  natural  con- 
nection in  the  average  American  mind,  and  rightly. 
They  supplement  each  other,  even  as  spring  lamb  and 
green  peas  with  our  transatlantic  cousins.  But  there 
is  a  better  recipe  for  brown  bread  than  is  known  to 
the  dwellers  of  the  Hub — one  that  has  captured  first 
prizes  at  country  fairs,  and  won  the  approval  of  epi- 
cures from  Maine  to  Minnesota ;  the  one  that  brought 
houesi  old  Greeley  down,  on  his  strictures  anent 
"country  bread."  And  here  1s  the  recipe;  take  it 
for  what  it  is  worth,  and  try  it  fairly  before  con- 
demning it.  It  is  for  home  use:  One  quart  of  sweet 
milk,  one  quart  of  sour,  two  quarts  of  Indian  meal 
and  one  quart  of  flour,  and  a  cupful  of  dark,  thin 
Porto  Rico  molasses.  Use  one  teaspoonful  of  soda 
only.  Bake  in  a  steady,  moderate  oven,  for  four 
hours.     Knead  thoroughly  before  baking. 

Soup  is,  or  should  be,  a  leading  food  element  in 
every  woodland  camp.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  noth- 
ing is,  as  a  rule,  more  badly  botched,  while  nothing 
is  more  easily  or  simply  cooked  as  it  should  be. 
Soup  requires  time,  and  a  solid  basis  of  the  right 
material.  Venison  is  the  basis,  and  the  best  material 
is  the  bloody  part  of  the  deer,  where  the  bullet  went 
through.  We  used  to  throw  this  away;  we  have 
learned  better.  Cut  about  four  pounds  of  the  bloody 
meat  into  convenient  pieces,  and  wipe  them  as  clean 
;is  possible  with  leaves  or  a  damp  cloth,  but  don't 
wash    them.      Put    the    meat    into    a    five-quart    kettle 


104  WOODCRAFT 

nearly  filled  with  water,  and  raise  it  to  a  lively  boil- 
ing pitch.  Let  it  boil  for  two  hours.  Have  ready  a 
three-tined  fork  made  from  a  branch  of  birch  or 
beech,  and  with  this  test  the  meat  from  time  to  time; 
when  it  parts  readily  from  the  bones,  slice  in  a  large 
onion.  Pare  six  large,  smooth  potatoes,  cut  five  of 
them  into  quarters,  and  drop  them  into  the  kettle; 
scrape  the  sixth  one  into  the  soup  for  thickening. 
Season  with  salt  and  white  pepper  to  taste. 

When,  by  skirmishing  with  the  wooden  fork,  you  can 
fish  up  bones  with  no  meat  on  them,  the  soup  is 
cooked,  and  the  kettle  may  be  set  aside  to  cool.  Any 
hungry  sportsman  can  order  the  next  motion.  Squir- 
rels— red,  black,  gray  or  fox — make  nearly  as  good 
a  soup  as  venison,  and  better  stew.  Hares,  rabbits, 
grouse,  quail,  or  any  of  the  smaller  game  birds, 
may  be  used  in  making  soup;  but  all  small  game  is 
better  in  a  stew. 

To  make  a  stew,  proceed  for  the  first  two  hours 
precisely  as  directed  for  soup;  then  slice  in  a  couple 
of  good-sized  onions  and  six  medium  potatoes.  When 
the  meat  begins  to  fall  from  the  bones,  make  a 
thickening  by  rubbing  three  tablespoonfuls  of  flour 
and  two  spoonfuls  of  melted  butter  together:  thin  to 
the  consistency  of  cream  with  liquor  from  the  kettle, 
and  drip  slowly  into  the  stew,  stirring  briskly  mean- 
while. Allow  all  soups  and  stews  to  boil  two  hours 
before  seasoning,  and  use  only  the  best  table  salt  and 
white  (or  black)  pepper.  Season  sparingly;  it  is 
easier  to  put  salt  in  than  to  get  it  out.  Cayenne  pep- 
per adds  zest  to  a  soup  or  stew,  but,  as  some  dislike 
it,  let  each  man  season  his  plate  to  his  own  cheek. 


STEWS  AND  PRIES  105 

Fried  squirrels  are  excellent  for  a  change,  but  are 
mostly  spoiled  by  poor  cooks,  who  put  tough  old  he's 
and  tender  young  squirrels  together,  treating  all  alike. 
To  dress  and  cook  them  properly,  chop  off  heads,  tails 
and  feet  with  the  hatchet;  cut  the  skin  on  the  back 
crosswise,  and,  inserting  the  two  middle  fingers,  pull 
the  skin  off  in  two  parts,  (head  and  tail).  Clean  and 
cut  them  in  halves,  leaving  two  ribs  on  the  hind- 
quarters. Put  hind  and  fore  quarters  into  the  kettle, 
and  parboil  until  tender.  This  will  take  about  twenty 
minutes  for  young  ones,  and  twice  as  long  for  the 
old. 

When  a  sharpened  sliver  will  pass  easily  through 
the  flesh,  take  the  hindquarters  from  the  kettle,  drain, 
and  place  them  in  the  frying-pan  with  pork  fat  hiss- 
ing hot.  Fry  to  a  light,  rich  brown.  It  is  the  only 
proper  way  to  cook  squirrels.  The  forequarters  are 
to  be  left  in  the  kettle  for  a  stew. 

It  sometimes  happens  that  pigeons  are  very  plenty, 
and  the  camp  is  tempted  into  over-shooting  and  over- 
cooking, until  every  one  is  thoroughly  sick  of  pigeons. 
This  is  all  wrong.  No  party  is,  or  can  be,  justified 
in  wanton  slaughter,  just  because  birds  happen  to  be 
plenty;  they  will  soon  be  scarce  enough.  Pigeons 
are  hardly  game,  and  they  are  not  a  first-class  bird; 
but  a  good  deal  may  be  got  out  of  them  by  the  fol- 
lowing method:  Dress  them,  at  the  rate  of  two  birds 
to  one  man;  save  the  giblets;  place  in  the  kettle,  and 
boil  until  the  sliver  will  easily  pierce  the  breast;  fork 
them  out,  cut  the  thick  meat  from  each  side  of  the 
breast  bone,  roll  slightly  in  flour,  and  put  the  pieces 
in  the  pan,  frying  them   in   the  same  way  as  directed 


106  WOODCRAFT 

for  squirrels.     Put  the  remainder  of  the  birds  in  the 
kettle  for  a  stew. 

Quail  are  good  cooked  in  the  same  manner,  but 
are  better  roasted  or  broiled.  To  roast  them,  par- 
boil for  fifteen  minutes,  and  in  the  meantime  cut  a 
thiu  hard-wood  stick,  eighteen  inches  long  for  each 
bird.  Sharpen  the  sticks  neatly  at  both  ends;  im- 
pale the  birds  on  one  end  and  thrust  the  sticks  into 
the  ground  near  the  fire,  leaning  them  so  that  the 
heat  will  strike  strongly  and  evenly.  Hang  a  strip  of 
pork  between  the  legs  of  each  bird,  and  turn  fre- 
quently until  they  are  a  rich  brown.  When  the 
sharpened  sliver  will  pass  easily  through  the  breast 
they  are  done. 

Woodcock  are  to  be  plucked,  but  not  drawn.  Sus- 
pend the  bird  in  a  bright,  clear  heat,  hang  a  ribbon 
of  fat  pork  between  the  legs,  and  roast  until  well 
done;    do  not  parboil  him. 

Ruffed  grouse  are  excellent  roasted  in  the  same 
manner,  but  should  first  be  parboiled.  Mallards,  teal, 
butterballs,  all  edible  ducks,  are  to  be  treated  the 
same  as  grouse.  If  you  are  ever  lucky  enough  to 
feast  on  a  canvas-back  roasted  as  above,  you  will  be 
apt  to  borrow  a  leaf  from  Oliver  Twist. 

Venison  steak  should  be  pounded  to  tenderness, 
pressed  and  worked  into  shape  with  the  hunting- 
knife,  and  broiled  over  a  bed  of  clean  hard-wood 
coals.  A  three-pronged  birch  fork  makes  the  best 
broiler.  For  roast  venison,  the  best  portion  is  the 
forward  part  of  the  saddle.  Trim  off  the  flanky  parts 
and  ends  of  the  ribs;  split  the  backbone  lengthwise, 
that  the  inner  surface  may  be  well  exposed;     hang  it 


BIRDS   AND   VENISON  107 

by  a  strong  cord  or  bark  string  in  a  powerful,  even 
beat;  lay  thin  strips  of  pork  along  the  upper  edge, 
and  turn  from  time  to  time  until  done.  It  had  better 
be  left  a  little  rare  than  overdone.  Next  to  the 
saddle  for  roasting,  comes  the  shoulder.  Peel  this 
smoothly  from  the  side,  using  the  hunting  knife; 
trim  neatly,  and  cut  off  the  leg  at  the  knee;  gash  the 
thickest  part  of  the  flesh,  and  press  shreds  of  pork 
into  the  gashes,  with  two  or  three  thin  slices  skew- 
ered to  the  upper  part.  Treat  it  in  the  roasting  as 
described  above.  It  is  not  equal  to  the  saddle  when 
warm,  but  sliced  and  eaten  cold,  is  quite  as  good. 

And  do  not  despise  the  fretful  porcupine;  he  is 
better  than  he  looks.  If  you  happen  on  a  healthy 
young  specimen  when  you  are  needing  meat,  give 
him  a  show  before  condemning  him.  Shoot  him  hu- 
manely in  the  head,  and  d»-ess  him.  It  is  easily  done; 
there  are  no  quills  on  thu  belly,  and  the  skin  peels 
as  freely  as  a  rabbit's.  Take  him  to  camp,  parboil 
him  for  thirty  minutes,  and  roast  or  broil  him  to  a 
rich  brown  over  a  bed  of  glowing  coals.  He  will 
need  no  pork  to  make  him  juicy,  and  you  will  find 
him  very  like  spring  lamb,  only  better, 

I  do  not  accept  the  decision  that  ranks  the  little 
gray  rabbit  as  a  hare,  simply  because  he  has  a  slit  in 
bis  lip;  at  all  events  I  shall  call  him  a  rabbit  for  con- 
venience, to  distinguish  him  from  his  long-legged 
cousin,  who  turns  white  in  winter,  never  takes  to  a 
hole,  and  can  keep  ahead  of  hounds  nearly  all  day, 
affording  a  game,  musical  chase  that  is  seldom  out 
of  hearing.  He  never  by  any  chance  has  an  ounce 
of  Hit   on  him,  and   is  not  very  good  eating.     He  can, 


108  WOODCRAFT 

however,  be  worked  into  a  good  stew  or  a  passable 
soup — provided  he  has  not  been  feeding  on  laurel. 
The  rabbit  is  an  animal  of  different  habits,  and  dif- 
ferent attributes.  When  jumped  from  his  form,  he  is 
apt  to  "dig  out"  for  a  hole  or  the  nearest  stone  heap. 
Sometimes  an  old  one  will  potter  around  a  thicket, 
ahead  of  a  slow  dog,  but  his  tendency  is  always  to 
hole.  But  he  affords  some  sport,  and  as  an  article  of 
food,  beats  the  long-legged  hare  out  of  sight.  He  is 
excellent  in  stews  or  soups,  while  the  after  half  of 
him,  flattened  down  with  the  hatchet,  parboiled  and 
fried  brown  in  butter  or  pork  fat,  is  equal  to  spring 
chicken. 

In  cooking  fish,  as  of  fish  and  fowl,  the  plainest 
and  simplest  methods  are  best;  and  for  anything 
under  two  pounds,  it  is  not  necessary  to  go  beyond 
the  frying-pan.  Trout  of  over  a  pound  should  be 
split  down  the  back,  that  they  may  lie  well  in  the  pan, 
and  cook  evenly.  Roll  well  in  meal,  or  a  mixture  of 
meal  and  flour,  and  fry  to  a  rich  brown  in. pork  fat, 
piping  hot.  Larger  fish  may  just  as  well  be  fried, 
but  are  also  adapted  to  other  methods,  and  there  are 
people  who  like  fish  broiled  and  buttered,  or  boiled. 
To  broil  a  fish,  split  him  on  the- back  and  broil  him 
four  minutes,  flesh  side  down,  turn  and  broil  the 
other  side  an  equal  time.  Butter  and  season  to  taste. 
To  broil,  the  fish  should  weigh  three  pounds  or  more. 
Clean,  and  crimp  him  by  gashing  the  sides  deeply 
with  a  sharp  knife.  Put  him  in  a  kettle  of  boiling 
water  strongly  salted,  and  boil  twenty-five  minutes. 
For  each  additional  pound  above  three,  add  five  min- 
utes.     For    gravy,    rub    together    two    tablespoonfuls 


FISH  109 

of  flour  and  one  of  melted  butter,  add  one  heaping 
teaspoonful  of  evaporated  milk,  and  thin  with  liquor 
from  the  kettle.  When  done,  it  should  have  the  con- 
sistency of  cream.  Take  the  fish  from  the  kettle, 
drain,  pour  the  gravy  over  it,  and  eat  only  with 
wheat  bread  or  hard-tack,  with  butter.  The  simplest 
is  best,  healthiest,  and  most  appetizing. 

As  a  rule,  on  a  mountain  tramp  or  a  canoe  cruise, 
I  do  not  tote  canned  goods.  I  carry  my  duffle  in  a 
light,  pliable  knapsack,  and  there  is  an  aggravating 
antagonism  between  the  uncompromising  rims  of  a 
fruit-can,  and  the  knobs  of  my  vertebrae,  that  twen- 
ty years  of  practice  has  utterly  failed  to  reconcile. 
And  yet,  I  have  found  my  account  in  a  can  of  con- 
densed milk,  not  for  tea  or  coffee,  but  on  bread  as  a 
substitute  for  butter.  And  I  have  found  a  small  can 
of  Boston  baked  beans  a  most  helpful  lunch,  with 
a  nine-mile  carry  ahead.  It  was  not  epicurean,  but 
had  staying  qualities. 

I  often  have  a  call  to  pilot  some  muscular  young 
friend  into  the  deep  forest,  and  he  usually  carries  a 
large  pack-basket,  with  a  full  supply  of  quart  cans 
of  salmon,  tomatoes,  peaches,  etc.  As  in  duty  bound, 
I  admonish  him  kindly,  but  firmly,  ou  the  folly  of 
loading  his  young  shoulders  with  such  effeminate 
luxuries;  often,  I  fear,  hurting  his  young  feelings  by 
brusque  advice.  But  at  night,  when  the  camp-fire 
burns  brightly,  and  he  begins  to  fish  out  his  tins,  the 
heart  of  the  Old  Woodsman  relents,  and  I  make 
amends  by  allowing  him  to  divide  the  groceries. 

There  is  a  method  of  cooking  usually  called  "mud- 
ding  np,"   which  I   have  found    to   preserve  the  flavor 


110  WOODCRAFT 

and  juiciness  of  ducks,  grouse,  etc.,  better  than  any 
other  method.  I  described  the  method  in  Forest  and 
Stream  more  than  a  year  ago,  but  a  brief  repetition 
may  not  be  out  of  place  here.  Suppose  the  bird  to 
be  cooked  is  a  mallard,  or  better  still,  a  canvas-back. 
Cut  off  the  head  and  most  part  of  the  neck;  cut  off 
the  pinions  and  pull  out  the  tail  feathers,  make  a 
plastic  cake  of  clay  or  tenacious  earth  an  inch  thick, 
and  large  enough  to  envelop  the  bird,  and  cover  him 
with  it  snugly.  Dig  an  oval  pit  under  the  fore-stick, 
large  enough  to  hold  him,  and  fill  it  with  hot  coals, 
keeping  up  a  strong  heat.  Just  before  turning  in  for 
the  night,  clean  out  the  pit,  put  in  the  bird,  cover  with 
hot  embers  and  coals,  keeping  up  a  brisk  fire  over  it 
all  night.  When  taken  out  in  the  morning  you  will 
have  an  oval,  oblong  mass  of  baked  clay,  with  a  well 
roasted  bird  inside.  Let  the  mass  cool  until  it  can  be 
handled,  break  off  the  clay,  and  feathers  and  skin 
will  come  with  it,  leaving  the  bird  clean  and  skinless. 
Season  it  as  you  eat,  with  salt,  pepper,  and  a  squeeze 
of  lemon  if  you  like,  nothing  else. 

in  selecting  salt,  choose  that  which  has  a  gritty 
feel  when  rubbed  between  the  thumb  and  finger,  and 
use  white  pepper  rather  than  black,  grinding  the 
berry  yourself.  Procure  a  common  tin  pepper-box, 
and  fill  it  with  a  mixture  of  fine  salt  and  Cayenne  pep- 
per— ten  spoonfuls  of  the  former  and  one  of  the  lat- 
ter. Have  it  always  where  you  can  lay  your  hand  on 
it;  you  will  come  to  use  it  daily  in  camp,  and  if  you 
ever  get  lost,  you  will  find  it  of  value.  Fish  and 
game  have  a  flat,  flashy  taste  eaten  without  salt, 
and  are  also  unwholesome. 


CONDIMENTS  111 

Do  not  carry  any  of  the  one  hundred  and  one  con- 
diments, sauces,  garnishes,  etc.,  laid  down  in  the 
books.  Salt,  pepper,  and  lemons  fill  the  bill  in  that 
line.  Lobster-sauce,  shrimp-sauce,  marjoram,  celery, 
parsley,  thyme,  anchovies,  etc.,  may  be  left  at  the 
hotels. 

It  may  be  expected  that  a  pocket  volume  on  wood- 
craft should  contain  a  liberal  chapter  of  instruction 
on  hunting.  It  would  be  quite  useless.  Hunters,  like 
poets,  are  born,  not  made.  The  art  cannot  be  taught 
on  paper.  A  few  simple  hints,  however,  may  not  be 
misplaced.  To  start  aright,  have  your  clothes  fitted 
for  hunting.  Select  good  cassimere  of  a  sort  of  dull, 
no-colored,  neutral  tint,  like  a  decayed  stump,  and 
have  coat,  pants,  and  cap  made  of  it.  For  foot-gear, 
two  pairs  of  heavy  yarn  socks,  with  rubber  shoes  or 
buckskin  moccasins.  In  hunting,  "silence  is  gold."  Go 
quietly,  slowly,  and  silently.  Remember  that  the 
bright-eyed,  sharp-eared  woodfolk  can  see,  hear  and 
smell,  with  a  keenness  that  throws  your  dull  faculties 
quite  in  the  shade.  As  you  go  lumbering  and  stick- 
breaking  through  the  woods,  you  will  never  know  how 
many  of  these  quietly  leave  your  path  to  right  and 
left,  allowing  you  to  pass,  while  they  glide  away,  un- 
seen, unknown.  It  is  easily  seen  that  a  sbarp-sensed, 
light-bodied  denizen  of  the  woods  can  detect  the  ap- 
proach of  a  heavy,  bifurcated,  booted  animal,  a  long 
way  ahead,  and  avoid  him  accordingly. 

But  there  is  an  art,  little  known  and  practiced,  that 
invariably  succeeds  in  outflanking  most  wild  animals; 
an  art,  simple  in  conception  and  execution,  but  re- 
quiring patience;    a  species,  so  to  speak,  of  high   art 


112  WOODCRAFT 

in  forestry — the  art  of  "sitting  on  a  log."  I  could 
enlarge  on  this.  I  might  say  that  the  only  writer 
of  any  note  who  has  mentioned  this  phase  of  wood- 
craft is  Mr.  Charles  D.  Warner;  and  he  only  speaks 
of  it  in  painting  the  character  of  that  lazy  old  guide, 
"Old  Phelps." 

Sitting  on  a  log  includes  a  deal  of  patience,  with 
oftentimes  cold  feet  and  chattering  teeth;  but,  at- 
tended to  faithfully  and  patiently,  is  quite  as  success- 
ful as  chasing  a  deer  all  day  on  tracking  snow,  while 
it  can  be  practiced  when  the  leaves  are  dry,  and  no 
other  mode  of  still-hunting  offers  the  ghost  of  a 
chance.  When  a  man  is  moving  through  the  woods, 
wary,  watchful  animals  are  pretty  certain  to  catch 
sight  of  him.  But  let  hiin  keep  perfectly  quiet  and 
the  conditions  are  reversed.  I  have  had  my  best 
luck,  and  killed  my  best  deer,  by  practically  waiting 
hour  after  hour  on  runways.  But  the  time  when  a 
hunter  could  get  four  or  five  fair  shots  in  a  day  by 
watching  a  runway  has  passed  away  forever.  Never 
any  more  will  buffalo  be  seen  in  solid  masses  cover- 
ing square  miles  in  one  pack.  The  immense  bands 
of  elk  and  droves  of  deer  are  things  of  the  past,  and 
"The  game  must  go." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


A    TEN    DAYS'    TRIP    IN    THE    WILDERNESS. GOING    IT    ALONE. 


'ff,::j         ^BOUT  the  only  inducements  I  can  think 
A       of    for    making    a    ten    days'    journey 


through  a  strong  wilderness,  solitary 
^~?  and  alone,  were  a  liking  for  adventure, 
/pl|  intense  love  of  nature  in  her  wildest 
%&  dress,  and  a  strange  fondness  for  be- 
p(  ing  in  deep  forests  by  myself.  The 
'Mcc  choice  of  route  was  determined  by  the 
^|t  fact  that  two  old  friends  and  school- 
mates had  chosen  to  cast  their  lots  in 
Michigan,  one  near  Saginaw  Bay,  the  other  among  the 
pines  of  the  Muskegon.  And  both  were  a  little  home- 
sick, and  both  wrote  frequent  letters,  in  which,  know- 
ing my  weak  point,  they  exhausted  their  adjectives 
and  adverbs  in  describing  the  abundance  of  game 
and  the  marvelous  fishing.  Now,  the  Muskegon  friend 
— Davis — was  pretty  well  out  of  reach.  But  Pete  Wil- 
liams, only  a  few  miles  out  of  Saginaw,  was  easily 
accessible.  And  so  it  happened,  on  a  bright  October, 
morning,  when  there  came  a  frost  that  cut  from 
Maine  to  Missouri,  that  a  sudden  fancy  took  me  to 
use  my  new  Billinghurst  on  something  larger  than 
squirrels.      It    took   about   one   minute   to   decide,   and 


(113) 


114  WOODCRAFT 

an  hour  to  pack  such  duffle  as  I  needed  for  a  few 
weeks  in  the  woods. 

Remembering  Pete's  two  brown-eyed  "kids,"  and 
knowing  that  they  were  ague-stricken  and  homesick, 
I  made  place  for  a  few  apples  and  peaches,  with  a 
ripe  melon.  For  Pete  and  I  had  been  chums  in 
Rochester,  and  I  had  bunked  in  his  attic  on  Galusha 
Street,  for  two  years.  Also,  his  babies  thought  as 
much  of  me  as  of  their  father.  The  trip  to  Saginaw 
was  easy  and  pleasant.  A  "Redbird"  packet  to  Buf- 
falo, the  old  propeller  Globe  to  Lower  Saginaw,  and 
a  ride  of  half  a  day  on  a  buckboard,  brought  me  to 
Pete  Williams'  clearing.  Were  they  glad  to  see  me? 
Well,  I  think  so.  Pete  and  his  wife  cried  like  chil- 
dren, while  the  two  little  homesick  "kids"  laid  their 
silken  heads  on  my  knees  and  sobbed  for  very  joy. 
When  I  brought  out  the  apples  and  peaches,  assuring 
them  that  these  came  from  the  little  garden  of  their 
old  home — liar  that  I  was — their  delight  was  bound- 
less. And  the  fact  that  their  favorite  tree  was  a 
"sour  bough,-'  while  these  were  sweet,  did  not  shake 
their  faith  in  the  least. 

I  staid  ten  days  or  more  with  the  Williams  family, 
and  the  fishing  and  hunting  were  all  that  he  had  said 
— all  that  could  be  asked.  The  woods  swarmed  with 
pigeons  and  squirrels;  grouse,  quail,  ducks  and  wild 
turkeys  were  too  plenty,  while  a  good  hunter  could 
scarcely  fail  of  getting  a  standing  shot  at  a  deer  in  a 
morning's  hunt.  But,  cui  bono?  What  use  could  be 
made  of  fish  or  game  in  such  a  place?  They  were 
all  half  sick,  and  had  little  appetite.  Mrs.  Williams 
could   not   endure   the   smell   of  fish;     they  had   been 


AT  PETE  WILLIAM'S  115 

cloyed  011  small  game,  and  were  surfeited  on  venison. 
My  sporting  ardor  sank  to  zero.  I  had  the  de- 
cency not  to  slaughter  game  for  the  love  of  killing, 
and  leave  it  to  rot,  or  hook  large  fish  that  could  not 
i  be  used.  I  soon  grew  restless,  and  began  to  think 
often  about  the  lumber  camp  on  the  Muskegon.  By 
surveyor's  lines  it  was  hardly  more  than  sixty  miles 
from  Pete  Williams'  clearing  to  the  Joe  Davis  camp 
on  the  Muskegon.  "But  practically,"  said  Pete,  "Joe 
and  I  are  a  thousand  miles  apart.  White  men,  as  a 
rule,  don't  undertake  to  cross  this  wilderness.  The 
only  one  I  know  who  has  tried  it  is  old  Bill  Hance; 
he  can  tell  you  all  about  it." 

Hance  was  the  hunting  and  trapping  genius  of 
Saginaw  Bay— a  man  who  dwelt  in  the  woods  sum- 
mer and  winter,  and  never  trimmed  his  hair  or  wore 
any  other  covering  on  his  head.  Not  a  misanthrope, 
or  taciturn,  but  friendly  and  talkative  rather;  liking 
best  to  live  alone,  but  fond  of  tramping  across  the 
woods  to  gossip  with  neighbors;  a  very  tall  man 
withal,  and  so  thin  that,  as  he  went  rapidly  winding 
and  turning  among  fallen  logs,  you  looked  to  see 
him  tangle  up  ami  tumble  in  a  loose  coil,  like  a  wet 
rope,  but  he  was  better  than  he  looked.  He  had  a  high 
reputation  as  trailer,  guide,  or  trapper,  and  was  men- 
tioned as  a  "bad  man  in  a  racket."  I  had  met  him 
several  times,  and  as  he  was  decidedly  a  character, 
had  rather  laid  myself  out  to  cultivate  him.  And 
now  that  1  began  to  have  a  strong  notion  of  crossing 
the  woods  alone,  i  took  counsel  of  Bill  Hance.  Un- 
like  Williams,  lie  thought  it  perfectly  feasible,  ami 
rather  a  neat,  gamy  thing  for  a  youngster  to  do.     He 


116  WOODCRAFT 

had  crossed  the  woods  several  times  with  surveying 
parties,  and  once  alone.  He  knew  an  Indian  trail 
which  led  to  an  old  camp  within  ten  miles  of  the 
Muskegon,  and  thought  the  trail  could  be  followed.  It 
took  him  a  little  less  than  three  days  to  go  through; 
"but,"  he  added,  "I  nat'rally  travel  a  little  faster  in 
the  woods  than  most  men.  If  you  can  follow  the 
trail,  you  ought  to  get  through  in  a  little  more'n 
three  days — if  you  keep  inoggin'." 

One  afternoon  I  carefully  packed  the  knapsack  and 
organized  for  a  long  woods  tramp.  I  took  little 
stock  in  that  trail,  or  the  three  days'  notion  as  to 
time.  I  made  calculations  on  losing  the  trail  the 
first  day,  and  being  out  a  full  week.  The  outfit  con- 
sisted of  rifle,  hatchet,  compass,  blanket-bag,  knap- 
sack and  knife.  For  rations,  one  loaf  of  bread,  two 
quarts  of  meal,  two  pounds  of  pork,  one  pound  of 
sugar,  with  tea,  salt,  etc.,  and  a  supply  of  jerked 
venison.  One  tin  dish,  twelve  rounds  of  ammuni- 
tion, and  the  bullet-molds,  filled  the  list,  and  did  not 
make  a  heavy  load. 

Early  on  a  crisp,  bright  October  morning  I  kissed 
the  little  fellows  good-bye,  and  started  out  with 
Hance,  who  was  to  put  me  on  the  trail.  I  left  the 
children  with  sorrow  and  pity  at  heart.  I  am  glad 
now  that  my  visit  was  a  golden  hiatus  in  the  sick 
monotony  of  their  young  lives,  and  that  I  was  able 
to  brighten  a  few  days  of  their  dreary  existence. 
They  had  begged  for  the  privilege  of  sleeping  with 
me  on  a  shake-down  from  the  first;  and  when,  as 
often  happened,  a  pair  of  little  feverish  lips  would 
murmur  timidly  and   pleadingly,   "I'm  so  dry;     can   I 


THE  START  117 

have  er  drink?"  I  am  thankful  that  I  did  not  put  the 
pleader  off  with  a  sip  of  tepid  water,  but  always 
brought  it  from  the  spring,  sparkling  and  cold.  For,  a 
twelvemonth  later,  there  were  two  little  graves  in  a 
corner  of  the  stump-blackened  garden,  and  two  sore 
hearts  in  Pete  Williams'  cabin. 

Hance  found  the  trail  easily,  but  the  Indians  had 
been  gone  a  long  time,  and  it  was  filled  with  leaves, 
dim,  and  not  easy  to  follow.  It  ended  as  nearly  all 
trails  do;  it  branched  off  to  right  and  left,  grew 
dimmer  and  slimmer,  degenerated  to  a  deer  path, 
petered  out  to  a  squirrel  track,  ran  up  a  tree,  and 
ended  in  a  knot  hole.  I  was  not  sorry.  It  left  me 
free  to  follow  my  nose,  my  inclination,  and — the 
compass. 

There  are  men  who,  on  finding  themselves  alone 
in  a  pathless  forest,  become  appalled,  almost  panic 
stricken.  The  vastness  of  an  unbroken  wilderness 
subdues  them,  and  they  quail  before  the  relentless, 
untamed  forces  of  nature.  These  are  the  men  who 
grow  enthusiastic — at  home — about  sylvan  life,  out- 
door isports,  but  always  strike  camp  and  come  home 
rather  sooner  than  they  intended.  And  there  be 
some  who  plunge  into  an  unbroken  forest  with  a  feel- 
ing of  fresh,  free,  invigorating  delight,  as  they  might 
dash  into  a  crisp  ocean  surf  on  a  hot  day.  These 
know  that  nature  is  stern,  hard,  immovable  and  ter- 
rible in  unrelenting  cruelty.  When  wintry  winds  arc 
out  and  the  mercury  far  below  zero,  she  will  allow 
her  most  ardent  lover  to  freeze  on  her  snowy  breast 
without  waving  a  leaf  in  pity,  or  offering  him  a  match; 
ami   scores  of  her  devotees  may   starve  lo  death    in   ;is 


118  WOODCRAFT 

many  different  languages  before  she  will  offer  a  loaf 
of  bread.  She  does  not  deal  in  matches  and  loaves; 
rather  in  thunderbolts  and  granite  mountains.  And 
the  ashes  of  her  camp-fires  bury  proud  cities.  But, 
like  all  tyrants,  she  yields  to  force,  and  gives  the 
more,  the  more  she  is  beaten.  She  may  starve  or 
freeze  the  poet,  the  scholar,  the  scientist;  all  the 
same,  she  has  in  store  food,  fuel  and  shelter,  which 
the  skillful,  self-reliant  woodsman  can  wring  from  her 
savage  hand  with  axe  and  rifle. 

Only  to  him  whose  coat  of  rags 
Has  pressed  at  night  her  regal  feet, 
Shall  come  the  secrets,  strange  and  sweet, 

Of  century  pines  and  beetling  crags. 

For  him  the  goddess  shall  unlocK 
The  golden  secrets  which  have  lain 
Ten  thousand  years,  through  frost  and  rain, 

Deep  in  the  bosom  of  the  rock. 

The  trip  was  a  long  and  tiresome  one,  considering 
the  distance.  There  were  no  hairbreadth  escapes;  I 
was  not  tackled  by  bears,  treed  by  wolves,  or  nearly 
killed  by  a  hand-to-claw  "racket"  with  a  panther; 
and  there  were  no  Indians  to  come  sneak-hunting 
around  after  hair.  Animal  life  was  abundant,  exu- 
berent,  even.  But  the  bright-eyed  woodfolk  seemed 
I  nine,  nay,  almost  friendly,  and  quite  intent  on  mind- 
ing their  own  business.  It  was  a  "pigeon  year,"  a 
"squirrel  year,"  and  also  a  marvelous  year  for  shack, 
or    mast.     Every    nut-bearing    tree    was    loaded    with 


WOOD  LIFE  119 

sweet  well-filled  nuts;  and  this,  coupled  with  the 
fact  that  the  Indians  had  left,  and  the  whites  had  not 
yet  got  in,  probably  accounted  for  the  plentitude  of 
game. 

I  do  not  think  there  was  an  hour  of  daylight  on 
the  trip  when  squirrels  were  not  too  numerous  to  be 
counted,  while  pigeons  were  a  constant  quantity  from 
start  to  finish.  Grouse  in  the  thickets,  and  quail  in 
the  high  oak  openings,  or  small  prairies,  with  droves 
of  wild  turkeys  among  heavy  timber,  were  met  with 
almost  hourly,  and  there  was  scarcely  a  day  on  which 
I  could  not  have  had  a  standing  shot  at  a  bear.  But 
the  most  interesting  point  about  the  game  was — to 
me,  at  least — the  marvelous  abundance  of  deer.  They 
were  everywhere,  on  all  sorts  of  ground  and  among 
all  varieties  of  timber;  very  tame  they  were,  too, 
often  stopping  to  look  at  the  stranger,  offering  easy 
shots  at  short  range,  and  finally  going  off  quite 
leisurely. 

No  ardent  lover  of  forest  life  could  be  lonely  in 
such  company,  and  in  such  weather.  The  only  draw- 
back was  the  harassing  and  vexatious  manner  in  which 
hikes,  streams,  swamps  and  marshes  constantly  per- 
sisted in  getting  across  the  way,  compelling  long  de- 
tours to  the  north  or  south,  when  the  true  course 
was  nearly  due  west.  I  think  there  were  days  on 
which  ten  hours  of  pretty  faithful  tramping  did  not 
result  in  more  than  three  or  lour  miles  of  direct 
headway.  The  headwaters  of  the  Salt  and  Chippewa 
rivers  were  especially  obstructive;  and.  when  more 
than  half  the  distance  was  covered,  (  ran  into  a  tangle 
of  small   lakes,   marshes  and   swamps,   not.  marked   on 


120  WOODCRAFT 

the    map,    which    cost    a    hard    day's    work    to    leave 
behind. 

While  there  were  no  startling  adventures,  and  no 
danger  connected  with  the  trip,  there  was  a  constant 
succession  of  incidents,  that  made  the  lonely  tramp 
far  from  monotonous.  Some  of  these  occurrences 
were  intensely  interesting,  and  a  little  exciting.  Per- 
haps the  brief  recital  of  a  few  may  not  be  uninterest- 
ing at  the  present  day,  when  game  is  so  rapidly  dis- 
appearing. 

My  rifle  was  a  neat,  hair-triggered  Billinghurst, 
carrying  sixty  round  balls  to  the  pound,  a  muzzle- 
loader,  of  course,  and  a  nail-driver.  I  made  just 
three  shots  in  ten  days,  and  each  shot  stood  for  a 
plump  young  deer  in  the  "short  blue."  It  seemed 
wicked  to  murder  such  a  bright,  graceful  animal, 
when  no  more  than  the  loins  and  a  couple  of  slices 
from  the  ham  could  be  used,  leaving  the  balance  to 
the  wolves,  who  never  failed  to  take  possession  before 
I  was  out  of  ear  shot.  But  I  condoned  the  excess,  if 
excess  it  were,  by  the  many  chances  I  allowed  to  pass, 
not  only  on  dear  but  bear,  and  once  on  a  big  brute  of  a 
wild  hog,  the  wickedest  and  most  formidable  looking 
animal  I  ever  met  in  the  woods.  The  meeting  hap- 
pened in  this  wise.  I  had  been  bothered  and  wearied 
for  half  a  day  by  a  bad  piece  of  low,  marshy  ground, 
and  had  at  length  struck  a  dry,  rolling  oak  opening, 
where  I  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  a  small  oak  to  rest. 
I  had  scarcely  been  resting  ten  miuntes,  when  I 
caught  sight  of  a  large,  dirty-white  animal,  slowly 
working  its  way  in  my  direction  through  the  low 
bushes,    evidently   nosing   around   for   acorns.      I    was 


INCIDENTS  121 

puzzled  to  say  what  it  was.  It  looked  like  a  hog,  but 
stood  too  high  on  its  legs;  and  how  would  such  a  beast 
get  there  anyhow?  Nearer  and  nearer  he  came,  and 
at  last  walked  out  into  an  open  spot  less  than  twenty 
yards  distant.  It  was  a  wild  hog  of  the  ugliest  and 
largest  description;  tall  as  a  yearling,  with  an  un- 
naturally large  head,  and  dangerous  looking  tusks, 
that  curved  above  his  savage  snout  like  small  horns. 
There  was  promise  of  magnificent  power  in  his  im- 
mense shoulders,  while  flanks  and  hams  were  dispro- 
portionately light.  He  came  out  to  the  open  leisurely 
munching  his  acorns,  or  amusing  himself  by  plough- 
ing deep  furrows  with  his  nose,  and  not  until  within 
ten  yards  did  he  appear  to  note  the  presence  of  a 
stranger.  Suddenly  he  raised  his  head  and  became 
rigid  as  though  frozen  to  stone;  he  was  taking  an 
observation.  For  a  few  seconds  he  remained  im- 
movable, then  his  bristles  became  erect,  and  with  a 
deep  guttural,  grunting  noise,  he  commenced  hitch- 
ing himself  along  in  my  direction,  sidewise.  My  hair 
raised,  and  in  an  instant  I  was  on  my  feet  with 
the  cocked  rifle  to  my  shoulder — meaning  to  shoot 
before  his  charge,  and  then  make  good  time  up  the 
tree.  But  there  was  no  need.  As  I  sprang  to  my 
feet  he  sprang  for  the  hazel  bushes,  and  went  tearing 
through  them  with  the  speed  of  a  deer,  keeping  up  a 
succession  of  snorts  and  grunts  that  could  be  heard 
long  after  he  had  passed  out  of  sight.  I  am  not  sub- 
ject to  buck  fever,  and  was  disgusted  to  find  myself 
so  badly  "rattled"  that  I  could  scarcely  handle  the 
rifle.  At  first  I  was  provoked  at  myself  for  not  get- 
ting a  good   ready  and  shooting  him   in  the  head,  as 


■  122  WOODCRAFT 

he  came  out  of  the  bushes;  but  it  was  better  to  let 
him  live.  He  was  not  carnivorous,  or  a  beast  of 
prey,  and  ugly  as  he  was,  certainly  looked  better 
alive  than  he  would  as  a  porcine  corpse.  No  doubt 
he  relished  his  acorns  as  well  as  though  he  had  been 
less  ugly,  and  he  was  a  savage  power  in  the  forest. 
Bears  love  pork,  even  as  a  darky  loves  'possum;  and 
the  fact  that  he  was  picking  up  a  comfortable  liv- 
ing in  that  wilderness,  is  presumptive  evidence  that  he 
was  a  match  for  the  largest  bear,  or  he  would  have 
been   eaten   long  before. 

Another  little  incident,  in  which  Bruin  played  a 
leading  part,  rises  vididly  to  memory.  It  was  hardly 
an  adventure;  only  the  meeting  of  man  and  bear, 
and  they  parted  on  good  terms,  with  no  hardness  on 
either  side. 

The  meeting  occurred,  as  usually  was  the  case 
with  large  game,  on  dry,  oak  lands,  where  the  under- 
growth was  hazel,  sassafras,  and  wild  grapevine.  As 
before,  I  had  paused  for  a  rest,  when  I  began  to  catch 
glimpses  of  a  very  black  animal  working  its  way 
among  the  hazel  bushes,  under  the  scattering  oaks, 
and  toward  me.  With  no  definite  intention  of  shoot- 
ing, but  just  to  see  how  easy  it  might  be  to  kill  him, 
I  got  a  good  ready,  and  waited.  Slowly  and  lazily 
he  nuzzled  his  way  among  the  trees,  sitting  up  occa- 
sionally to  crunch  acorns,  until  he  was  within  twenty- 
five  yards  of  me,  with  the  bright  bead  neatly  show- 
ing at  the  butt  of  his  ear,  and  he  sitting  on  his 
haunches,  calmly  chewing  his  acorns,  oblivious  of 
danger.  He  was  the  shortest-legged,  blackest,  and 
glossiest  bear  I  had  ever  seen;    and   such   a  fair   shot. 


MEETING  A  BEAR  123 

But  I  could  not  use  either  skin  or  meat,  and  he  was 
a  splendid  picture  just  as  he  sat.  Shot  down  and  left 
to  taint  the  blessed  air,  he  would  not  look  as  whole- 
some, let  alone  that  it  would  be  unwarrantable 
murder.  And  so,  when  he  came  nosing  under  the 
very  tree  where  I  was  sitting,  I  suddenly  jumped 
up,  threw  my  hat  at  him,  and  gave  a  Comanche  yell. 
He  tumbled  over  in  a  limp  heap,  grunting  and  whin- 
ing for  very  terror,  gathered  himself  up,  got  up  head- 
way, and  disappeared  with  wonderful  speed — consid- 
ering the  length  of  his  legs. 

On  another  occasion — and  this  was  in  heavy  tim- 
ber— I  was  resting  on  a  log,  partially  concealed  by 
spice  bushes,  when  I  noticed  a  large  flock  of  turkeys 
coming  in  my  direction.  As  they  rapidly  advanced 
with  their  quick,  gliding  walk,  the  flock  grew  to  a 
drove,  the  drove  became  a  swarm — an  army.  To 
right  and  on  the  left,  as  far  as  I  could  see  in  front,  a 
legion  of  turkeys  were  marching,  steadily  marching 
to  the  eastward.  Among  them  were  some  of  the 
grandest  gobblers  I  had  ever  seen,  and  one  magnifi- 
cent fellow  came  straight  toward  me.  Never  before 
or  since  have  I  seen  such  a  splendid  wild  bird.  His 
thick,  glossy  black  beard  nearly  reached  the  ground, 
his  bronze  uniform  was  of  the  richest,  and  he  was  de- 
cidedly the  largest  I  have  ever  seen.  When  within 
fifty  feet  of  the  spot  where  I  was  nearly  hidden,  his 
wary  eye  caught  something  suspicious;  and  he  raised 
his  superb  head  for  an  instant  in  an  attitude  of  mo- 
tionless attention.  Then,  with  lowered  head  and 
drooping  tail,  he  turned  right  about,  gave  the  note  of 

alarm,  put  the  trunk  of  a  large  tree  quickly  between 


124  WOODCRAFT 

himself  and  the  enemy,  and  went  away  like  the  wind. 
With  the  .speed  of  thought  the  warning  note  was 
sounded  along  the  whole  line,  and  in  a  moment  the 
woods  seemed  alive  with  turkeys,  running  for  dear 
life.  In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  that  galli- 
naceous army  had  passed  out  of  sight,  forever.  And 
the  like  of  it  will  never  again  be  possible  on  this 
continent. 

And  again,  on  the  morning  of  the  sixth  day  out,  I 
blundered  on  to  such  an  aggregation  of  deer  as  a 
man  sees  but  once  in  a  lifetime.  I  had  camped  over 
night  on  low  land,  among  heavy  timber,  but  soon 
after  striking  camp,  came  to  a  place  where  the  timber 
was  scattering,  and  the  land  had  a  gentle  rise  to  the 
westward.  Scarcely  had  I  left  the  low  land  behind, 
when  a  few  deer  got  out  of  their  beds  and  commenced 
lazily  bounding  away.  They  were  soon  joined  by 
others;  on  the  right  flank,  on  the  left,  and  ahead, 
they  continued  to  rise  and  canter  off  leisurely,  stop- 
ping at  a  distance  of  one  or  two  hundred  yards  to 
look  back.  It  struck  me  finally  that  I  had  started 
something  rather  unusual,  and  I  began  counting  the 
deer  in  sight.  It  was  useless  to  attempt  it;  their 
white  flags  were  flying  in  front  and  on  both  flanks,  as 
far  as  one  could  see,  and  new  ones  seemed  constantly 
joining  the  procession.  Among  them  were  several 
very  large  bucks  with  superb  antlers,  and  these 
seemed1  very  little  afraid  of  the  small,  quiet  biped  in 
leaf-colored  rig.  They  often  paused  to  gaze  back 
with  bold,  fearless  front,  as  though  inclined  to  call  a 
halt  and  face  the  music;  but  when  within  a  hundred 
yards,  would  turn  and  canter  leisurely  away.     As  the 


TURKEYS  AND  DERR  125 

herd  neared  the  summit  of  the  low-lying  ridge,  I 
tried  to  make  a  reasonable  guess  at  their  numbers, 
by  counting  a  part  and  estimating  the-rest,  but  could 
come  to  no  satifsactory  conclusion.  As  they  passed 
the  summit  and  loped  down  the  gentle  decline  toward 
heavy  timber,  they  began  to  scatter,  and  soon  not  a 
flag  was  in  sight.  It  was  a  magnificent  cervine  army 
with  white  banners,  and  I  shall  never  look  upon  its 
like  again.  The  largest  drove  of  deer  I  have  seen  in 
twenty  years  consisted  of  seven  only. 

And  with  much  of  interest,  much  of  tramping,  and 
not  a  little  vexatious  delay,  I  came  at  length  to 
a  stream  that  I  knew  must  be  the  south  branch  of 
the  Muskegon.  The  main  river  could  scarcely  be 
more  than  ten  miles  to  the  westward,  and  might  be 
easily  reached  in  one  day. 

It  was  time.  The  meal  and  pork  were  nearly  gone, 
sugar  and  tea  were  at  low  ebb,  and  I  was  tired  of 
venison;  tired  anyhow;  ready  for  human  speech  and 
human  companionship. 

It  was  in  the  afternoon  of  the  ninth  day  that  I 
crossed  the  South  Muskegon  and  laid  a  course  west 
by  north.  The  travelling  was  not  bad;  and  in  less 
than  an  hour  I  ran  on  to  the  ruins  of  a  camp  that  I 
knew  to  be  the  work  of  Indians.  It  had  evidently 
been  a  permanent  winter  camp,  and  was  almost  cer- 
tainly the  Indian  camp  spoken  of  by  Bill  Hance. 
Pausing  a  short  time  to  look  over  the  ruins,  with 
the  lonely  feeling  always  induced  by  a  decayed,  rot- 
ting camp,  I  struck  due  west  and  made  several  miles 
before  sundown. 

I  camped  on  a  little  rill,  near  a  huge  dry  stub  that 


126  WOODCRAFT 

would  peel,  made  the  last  of  the  meal  into  a  johnny- 
cake,  broiled  the  last  slice  of  pork,  and  laid  down 
with  the  notion  that  a  ten  days'  tramp,  where  it  took 
an  average  of  fifteen  miles  to  make  six,  ought  to  end 
on  the  morrow.  At  sunrise  I  was  again  on  foot, 
and  after  three  hours  of  steady  tramping,  saw  a 
smoky  opening  ahead.  In  five  minutes  I  was  stand- 
ing on  the  left  bank  of  Muskegon. 

And  the  Joe  Davis  camp — was  it  up  stream  or 
down?  I  decided  on  the  latter,  and  started  slowly 
down  stream,  keeping  an  eye  out  for  signs.  In  less 
than  an  hour  I  struck  a  dim  log  road  which  led  to 
the  river,  and  there  was  a  "landing,"  with  the  usual 
debris  of  skids,  loose  bark,  chocks,  and  some  pieces 
of  broken  boards.  It  did  not  take  long  to  construct 
an  efficient  log  raft  from  the  dry  skids,  and  as  I 
drifted  placidly  down  the  deep,  wild  river,  munching 
the  last  bit  of  johnny-cake,  I  inwardly  swore  that  my 
next  wilderness  cruise  should  be  by  water. 

It  was  in  late  afternoon  that  I  heard— blessed 
sound — the  eager  clank,  clank,  clank  of  the  old- 
fashioned  sawmill.  It  grew  nearer  and  more  dis- 
tinct; presently  I  could  distinguish  the  rumble  of 
machinery  as  the  carriage  gigged  back;  then  the 
raft  rounded  a  gentle  bend,  and  a  mill,  with  its  long, 
log  boarding-house,  came  full  in  sight. 

As  the  raft  swung  into  the  landing  the  mill  became 
silent;  a  brown-bearded,  red-shirted  fellow  came 
down  to  welcome  me,  a  pair  of  strong  hands  grasped 
both  my  own,  and  the  voice  of  Joe  Davis  said  ear- 
nestly, "Why,  George!  I  never  was  so  d — d  glad  to 
see  a  man  in  my  life!" 


AT  THE  RIVER  127 

The  ten  days'  tramp  was  ended.  It  had  been 
wearisome  to  a  degree,  but  interesting  and  instruct- 
ive. I  had  seen  more  game  birds  and  animals  in 
the  time  than  I  ever  saw  before  or  since  in  a  whole 
season;  and,  though  I  came  out  with  clothes  pretty 
well  worn  and  torn  off  my  back  and  legs,  was  a  little 
disposed  to  plume  myself  on  the  achievement.  Even 
at  this  day  I  am  a  little  proud  of  the  fact  that,  with 
so  many  temptations  to  slaughter,  I  only  fired  three 
shots  on  the  route.  Nothing  but  the  exceptionally 
fine,  dry  weather  rendered  such  a  trip  possible  in  a 
wilderness  so  cut  up  with  swamps,  lakes,  marshes  and 
streams.  A  week  of  steady  rain  or  a  premature 
snow  storm — either  likely  enough  at  that  season — 
would  have  been  most  disastrous;  while  a  forest  fire 
like  that  of  '56,  and  later  ones,  would  simply  have 
proved  fatal. 

Reader,  if  ever  you  are  tempted  to  make  a  similar 
thoughtless,  reckless  trip — don't  do  it. 


CHAPTER  IX— CANOEING. 

THE  LIGHT  CANOE  AND  DOUBLE  BLADE. VARIOUS  CANOES  FOB 

VARIOUS    CANOEISTS. — REASONS    FOR  PREFERRING   THE 
CLINKER-BUILT   CEDAR. 


HE  canoe  is  corning  to  the  front,  and 
canoeing  is  gaining  rapidly  in  popular 
favor,  in  spite  of  the  disparaging  re- 
mark that  "a  canoe  is  a  poor  man's 
yacht."  The  canoe  editor  of  Forest 
and  Stream  pertinently  says,  "we  may 
as  properly  call  a  bicycle  "the  poor 
man's  express  train."  But,  suppose 
it  is  the  poor  man's  yacht?  Are  we 
to  be  debarred  from  aquatic  sports  be- 
cause we  are  not  rich?  And  are  we  such  weak  flunkies 
as  to  be  ashamed  of  poverty?  Or  to  attempt  shams 
and  subterfuges  to  hide  it?  For  myself,  I  freely 
accept  the  imputation.  In  common  with  nine-tenths 
of  my  fellow  citizens  I  am  poor — and  the  canoe  is 
my  yacht,  as  it  would  be  were  I  a  millionaire.  We 
are  a  nation  of  many  millions,  and  comparatively  few 
of  us  are  rich  enough  to  support  a  yacht,  let  alone 
the  fact  that  not  one  man  in  fifty  lives  near  enough 
to  yachting  waters  to  make  such  an  acquisition  de- 
sirable— or    feasible,    even.      It    is    different    with    the 

(128) 


A  CANOE  CRUISE  129 

canoe.  A  man  like  myself  may  live  in  the  back- 
woods, a  hundred  miles  from  a  decent  sized  inland 
lake,  and  much  further  from  the  sea  coast,  and  yet 
be  an  enthusiastic  canoeist.     For  instance. 

Last  July  I  made  my  preparations  for  a  canoe 
cruise,  and  spun  out  with  as  little  delay  as  possible. 
I  had  pitched  on  the  Adirondacks  as  cruising 
ground,  and  had  more  than  250  miles  of  railroads 
and  buckboards  to  take,  before  launching  the  canoe 
on  Moose  River.  She  was  carried  thirteen  miles 
over  the  Brown's  Tract  road  on  the  head  of  her 
skipper,  cruised  from  the  western  side  of  the  Wilder- 
ness to  the  Lower  St.  Regis  on  the  east  side,  cruised 
back  again  by  a  somewhat  different  route,  was  taken 
home  to  Pennsylvania  on  the  cars,  250  miles,  sent 
back  to  her  builder,  St.  Lawrence  county,  N.  Y.,  over 
300  miles,  thence  by  rail  to  New  York  City,  where, 
the  last  I  heard  of  her,  she  was  on  exhibition  at  the 
Forest  and  Stream  office.  She  took  her  chances  in 
the  baggage  car,  with  no  special  care,  and  is  to-day, 
so  far  as  I  know,  staunch  and  tight,  with  not  a  check 
in  her  frail  siding. 

Such  cruising  can  only  be  made  in  a  very  light 
canoe,  and  with  a  very  light  outfit.  It  was  sometimes 
necessary  to  make  several  carries  in  one  day,  aggre- 
gating as  much  as  ten  miles,  besides  from  fifteen  to 
twenty  miles  under  paddle.  No  heavy,  decked,  pad- 
dling or  sailing  canoe  would  have  been  available  for 
such-  a  trip  with  a  man  of  ordinary  muscle. 

The  difference  between  a  lone,  independent  cruise 
through  an  almost  unbroken  wilderness,  and  cruising 
along  civilized  routes,  where  the  canoeist  can  interview 


130  WOODCRAFT 

farm  houses  and  village  groceries  for  supplies,  get- 
ting gratuitous  stonings  from  the  small  boy,  and  much 
reviling  from  ye  ancient  mariner  of  the  towpath — I 
say,  the  difference  is  just  immense.  Whence  it  comes 
that  I  always  prefer  a  very  light,  open  canoe;  one 
that  can  carry  almost  as  easily  as  my  hat,  and  yet 
that  will  float  me  easily,  buoyantly,  and  safely.  And 
such  a  canoe  was  my  last  cruiser.  She  only  weighed 
ten  and  one-half  pounds  when  first  launched,  and 
after  an  all-summer  rattling  by  land  and  water  had 
only  gained  half  a  pound.  I  do  not  therefore  advise 
any  one  to  buy  a  ten  and  a  half  pound  canoe;  al- 
though she  would  prove  competent  for  a  skillful  light- 
weight. She  was  built  to  order,  as  a  test  of  light- 
ness and  was  the  third  experiment  in  that  line. 

I  have  nothing  to  say  against  the  really  fine  canoes 
that  are  in  highest  favor  today.  Were  I  fond  of 
sailing,  and  satisfied  to  cruise  on  routes  where  clear- 
ings are  more  plenty  than  carries,  I  dare  say  I  should 
run  a  Shadow,  or  Stella  Maris,  at  a  cost  of  consider- 
ably more  than  $100  — though  I  should  hardly  call 
it  a  "poor  man's  yacht." 

Much  is  being  said  and  written  at  the  present  day 
as  to  the  "perfect  canoe."  One  writer  decides  in 
favor  of  a  Pearl  15x31%  inches.  In  the  same  column 
another  says,  "the  perfect  canoe  does  not  exist."  I 
should  rather  say  there  are  several  types  of  the  mod- 
ern canoe,  each  nearly  perfect  in  its  way  and  for  the 
use  to  which  it  is  best  adapted.  The  perfect  pad- 
dling canoe  is  by  no  means  perfect  under  canvas,  and 
vice  versa.  The  best  cruiser  is  not  a  perfect  racer, 
while  neither  of  them  is  at  all  perfect  as  a  paddling 


A  LIGHT  CANOE  131 

cruiser  where  much  carrying  is  to  be  clone.  And  the 
most  perfect  canoe  for  fishing  and  gunning  around 
shallow,  marshy  waters,  would  be  a  very  imperfect 
canoe  for  a  rough  and  ready  cruise  of  one  hundred 
miles  through  a  strange  wilderness,  where  a  day's 
cruise  will  sometimes  include  a  dozen  miles  of  carry- 
ing. 

Believing,  as  I  do,  That  the  light,  single  canoe  with 
double-bladed  paddle  is  bound  to  soon  become  a 
leading — if  not  the  leading — feature  in  summer 
recreation,  and  having  been  a  light  canoeist  for 
nearly  fifty  years,  during  the  last  twenty  of  which  I 
experimented  much  with  the  view  of  reducing  weight, 
perhaps  I  can  give  some  hints  that  may  help  a 
younger  man  in  the  selection  of  a  canoe  which  shall 
be  safe,  pleasant  to  ride,  and  not  burdensome  to 
carry. 

Let  me  promise  that,  up  to  four  years  ago,  I  was 
never  able  to  get  a  canoe  that  entirely  satisfied  me 
as  to  weight  and  model.  I  bought  the  smallest 
birches  I  could  find;  procured  a  tiny  Chippewa  dug- 
out from  North  Michegan,  and  once  owned  a  kyak. 
They  were  all  too  heavy,  and  they  were  cranky  to  a 
degree. 

About  twenty  years  ago  I  commenced  making  my 
own  canoes.  The  construction  was  of  the  simplest; 
a  22-inch  pine  board  for  the  bottom,  planed  to  % 
of  an  inch  thickness;  two  wide  Vi-mch  boards  for 
the  sides,  and  two  light  oak  stems;  five  pieces  of 
wood  in  all.  I  found  that  the  bend  of  the  siding 
gave  too  much  shear;  for  instance,  if  the  siding  waa 
""*  inches   wide,   she  would   have  a   rise   of   12   inches; 


132  WOODCRAFT 

at  stems  and  less  than  5  inches  at  center.  But  the 
flat  bottom  made  her  very  stiff,  and  for  river  work 
she  was  better  than  anything  I  had  yet  tried.  She 
was  too  heavy,  however,  always  weighing  from  45  to 
50  pounds,  and  awkward  to  carry. 

My  last  canoe  of  this  style  went  down  the  Susque- 
hanna with  an  ice  jam  in  the  spring  of  '79,  and  in  the 
meantime  canoeing  began  to  loom  up.  The  best 
paper  in  the  country  which  makes  out-door  sport  a 
specialty,  devoted  liberal  space  to  canoeing,  and 
skilled  boatbuilders  were  advertising  canoes  of  vari- 
ous models  and  widely  different  material.  I  com- 
menced interviewing  the  builders  by  letter,  and 
studying  catalogues  carefully.  There  was  a  wide 
margin  of  choice.  You  could  have  lapstreak,  smooth 
skin,  paper,  veneer,  or  canvas.  What  I  wanted  was 
light  weight,  and  good  model.  I  liked  the  Peterboro 
canoes;  they  were  decidedly  canoey.  Also,  the 
veneered  Racines;  but  neither  of  them  talked  of  a 
20-pound  canoe.  The  "Osgood  folding  canvas"  did. 
But  I  had  some  knowledge  of  canvas  boats.  I  knew 
they  could  make  her  down  to  20  pounds.  How 
much  would  she  weigh  after  being  in  the  water  a 
week,  and  how  would  she  behave  when  swamped  in 
the  middle  of  a  lake,  were  questions  to  be  asked,  for 
I  always  get  swamped.  One  builder  of  cedar  canoes 
thought  he  could  make  me  the  boat  I  wanted,  inside 
of  20  pounds,  clinker-built,  and  at  my  own  risk,  as 
he  hardly  believed  in  so  light  a  boat.  I  sent  him 
the  order,  and  he  turned  out  what  is  pretty  well 
known  in  Brown's  Tract  as  the  "Nessmuk  canoe." 
She   weighed    just   17    pounds   13%    ounces,    and    was 


EXPERIMENTS  133 

thought  to  be  the  lightest  working  canoe  in  existence. 
Her  builder  gave  me  some  advice  about  stiffening 
her  with  braces,  etc.,  if  I  found  her  too  frail,  "and  he 
never  expected  another  like  her." 

"He  builded  better  than  he  knew."  She  needed 
no  bracing;  and  she  was,  and  is,  a  staunch,  sea- 
worthy little  model.  I  fell  in  love  with  her  from  the 
start.  I  had  at  last  found  the  canoe  that  I  could 
ride  in  rough  water,  sleep  in  afloat,  and  carry  with 
ease  for  miles.  I  paddled  her  early  and  late,  mainly 
on  the  Fulton  Chain;  but  I  also  cruised  her  on 
Raquette  Lake,  Eagle,  Utowana,  Blue  Mountain, 
and  Forked  lakes.  I  paddled  her  until  there  were 
black  and  blue  streaks  along  the  muscles  from  wrist 
to  elbow.  Thank  Heaven,  I  had  found  something 
that  made  me  a  boy  again.  Her  log  shows  a  cruise 
for  1880  of  over  550  miles. 

As  regards  her  capacity  (she  is  now  on  Third 
Lake,  Brown's  Tract),  James  P.  Fifield,  a  muscular 
young  Forge  House  guide  of  6  feet  2  inches  and  185 
pounds  weight,  took  her  through  the  Fulton  Chain 
to  Raquette  Lake  last  summer;  and,  happening  on 
his  camp,  Seventh  Lake,  last  July,  I  asked  him  how 
she  performed  under  his  weight.  He  said,  "I  never 
made  the  trip  to  Raquette  so  lightly  and  easily 
in  my  life."  And  as  to  the  opinion  of  her  builder,  he 
wrote  me,  under  date  of  Nov.  18,  '83:  "I  thought  when 
T  built  the  Nessmuk,  no  one  else  would  ever  want  one. 
But  I  now  build  about  a  dozen  of  them  a  year. 
Great  big  men,  ladies,  and  two,  aye,  three  schoolboys 
ride  in  them.  It  is  wonderful  how  few  pounds  of 
cedar,   rightly  modeled   and  properly  put  together,   it 


13  4  WOODCRAFT 

takes  to  float  a  man."  Just  so,  Mr.  Builder.  That's 
what  I  said  when  I  ordered  her.  But  few  seemed  to 
see  it  then. 

The  Nessmuk  was  by  no  means  the  ultimatum  of 
lightness,  and  I  ordered  another,  six  inches  longer, 
two  inches  wider,  and  to  weigh  about  15  pounds. 
When  she  came  to  hand  she  was  a  beauty,  finished  in 
oil  and  shellac.  But  she  weighed  16  pounds,  and 
would  not  only  carry  me  and  my  duffle,  but  I  could 
easily  carry  a  passenger  of  my  weight.  I  cruised 
her  in  the  summer  of  '81  over  the  Fulton  Chain, 
Raquette  Lake,  Forked  Lake,  down  the  Raquette 
River,  and  on  Long  Lake.  But  her  log  only  showed 
a  record  of  206  miles.  The  cruise  that  had  been 
mapped  for  600  miles  was  cut  short  by  sickness,  and 
I  went  into  quarantine  at  the  hostelry  of  .Mitchell 
Sabattis.  Slowly  and  feebly  I  crept  back  to  the  Ful- 
ton Chain,  hung  up  at  the  Forge  House,  and  the 
cruise  of  the  Susan  Nipper  was  ended.  Later  in  the 
season,  I  sent  for  her,  ana  she  was  forwarded  by  ex- 
press, coming  out  over  the  fearful  Brown's  Tract 
road  to  Boonville  (25%  miles)  by  buckboard.  From 
Boonville  home,  she  took  her  chances  in  the  baggage 
car  without  protection,  and  reached  her  destination 
without  a  check  or  scratch.  She  hangs  in  her  slings 
cinder  the  porch,  a  thing  of  beauty — and,  like  many 
beauties,  a  trifle  frail — but  staunch  as  the  day  I  took 
her.  Her  proper  lading  is  about  200  pounds.  She 
can  float  300  pounds. 

Of  my  last  and  lightest  venture,  the  Sairy  Gamp, 
little  more  need  be  said.  I  will  only  add  that  a  Mr. 
Button,    of   Philadelphia,    got   into    her   at   the    Forge 


WHAT  SHE  CAN  DO  135 

House,  and  paddled  her  like  an  old  canoeist,  though 
it  was  his  first  experience  with  the  double  blade.  He 
gave  his  age  as  sixty-four  years,  and  weight,  140 
pounds.  Billy  Cornell,  a  bright  young  guide,  cruised 
her  on  Raquette  Lake  quite  as  well  as  her  owner 
could  do  it,  and  I  thought  she  trimmed  better  with 
him.  He  paddled  at  14iy2  pounds,  which  is  just 
about  her  right  lading.  And  she  was  only  an  ex- 
periment, anyhow.  I  wanted  to  find  out  how  light 
a  canoe  it  took  to  drown  her  skipper,  and  I  do  not  yet 
know.  I  never  shall.  But,  most  of  all,  I  desired  to 
settle  the  question — approximately  at  least,  of  weight, 
as  regards  canoe  and  canoeist. 

Many  years  ago,  I  became  convinced  that  we  were 
all,  as  canoeists,  carrying  and  paddling  just  twice  as 
much  wood  as  was  at  all  needful,  and  something 
more  than  a  year  since,  I  advanced  the  opinion  in 
Forest  and  Stream,  that  ten  pounds  of  well  made 
cedar  ought  to  carry  one  hundred  pounds  of  man. 
The  past  season  has  more  than  proved  it;  but,  as  I 
may  be  a  little  exceptional,  I  leave  myself  out  of  the 
question,  and  have  ordered  my  next  canoe  on  lines 
and  dimensions  that,  in  my  judgment,  will  be  found 
nearly  perfect  for  the  average  canoeist  of  150  to 
160  pounds.  She  will  be  much  stronger  than  either 
of  my  other  canoes,  because  few  men  would  like  a 
canoe  so  frail  and  limber  that  she  can  be  sprung  in- 
ward by  hand  pressure  on  the  gunwales,  as  easily  as  a 
hat-box.  And  many  men  are  clumsy  or  careless  with 
a  boat,  while  others  are  lubberly  by  nature.  Her 
dimensions  are:  Length,  lO1/^  feet;  beam,  26  inches; 
rise  at  center,  9  inches;  at  seams,  15  inches;   oval  red 


136  WOODCRAFT 

elm  ribs,  1  inch  apart;  an  inch  home  tumble;  stems, 
plumb  and  sharp;  oak  keel  and  keelson;  clinker- 
built,  of  white  cedar. 

Such  a  canoe  will  weigh  about  22  pounds,  and  will 
do  just  as  well  for  the  man  of  140  or  170  pounds, 
while  even  a  light  weight  of  110  pounds  ought  to 
take  her  over  a  portage  with  a  light,  elastic  carrying 
frame,  without  distress.  She  will  trim  best,  however, 
at  about  160  pounds.  For  a  welter,  say  of  some  200 
pounds,  add  6  inches  to  her  length,  2  inches  to  her 
beam,  and  1  inch  rise  at  center.  The  light  weight 
canoeist  will  find  that  either  of  these  two  canoes  will 
prove  satisfactory,  that  is  10  feet  in  length;  weight,  16 
pounds,  or  10%  feet  length,  weight  18  pounds.  Either 
is  capable  of  160  pounds,  and  they  are  very  steady  and 
buoyant,  as  I  happen  to  know.  I  dare  say  any  first 
class  manufacturers  will  build  canoes  of  these 
dimensions. 

Provide  your  canoe  with  a  flooring  of  oilcloth  3% 
feet  long  by  15  inches  wide;  punch  holes  in  it 
and  tie  it  neatly  to  the  ribbing,  just  where  it  will  best 
protect  the  bottom  from  wear  and  danger.  Use  only 
a  cushion  for  seat,  and  do  not  buy  a  fancy  one  with 
permanent  stuffing,  but  get  sixpence  worth  of  good, 
unbleached  cotton  cloth,  and  have  it  sewed  into  bag 
shape.  Stuff  the  bag  with  fine  browse,  dry  grass  or 
leaves,  settle  it  well  together,  and  fasten  the  open  end 
by  turning  it  flatly  back  and  using  two  or  three  pins. 
You  can  empty  it  if  you  like  when  going  over  a  carry, 
and  it  makes  a  good  pillow  at  night. 

Select  a  canoe  that  fits  you,  just  as  you  would  a 
roat  or   hat.     A   16-pound   canoe   may   fit   me   exactly. 


THE  PROPER  CRAFT  137 

but  would  be  a  bad  misfit  for  a  man  of  180  pounds. 
And  don't  neglect  the  auxiliary  paddie,  or  "pudding 
stick,"  as  my  friends  call  it.  The  notion  may  be  new 
to  most  canoeists,  but  will  be  found  exceedingly 
handy  and  useful.  It  is  simple  a  little  one-handed 
paddle  weighing  5  to  7  ounces,  20  to  22  inches  long, 
wiili  a  blade  3%  inches  wide.  Work  it  out  of  half- 
inch  cherry  or  maple,  and  fine  the  blade  down  thin. 
Tie  it  to  a  rib  with  a  slip-knot,  having  the  handle  in 
easy  reach,  and  when  you  come  to  a  narrow,  tortuous 
channel,  where  shrubs  and  weeds  crowd  you  on  both 
sides,  take  the  double-blade  inboard,  use  the  pudding 
stick,  and  you  can  go  almost  anywhere  that  a  musk- 
rat  can. 

In  fishing  for  trout  or  floating  deer,  remember  you 
are  dealing  with  the  wary,  and  that  the  broad  blades 
are  very  showy  when  in  motion.  Therefore,  on 
approaching  a  spring-hole,  lay  the  double-blade 
on  the  lily-pads  where  you  can  pick  it  up  when 
wanted,  and  handle  your  canoe  with  the  auxiliary. 
On  hooking  a  large  fish,  handle  the  rod  with  one 
hand  and  with  the  other  lay  the  canoe  out  into  deep 
water,  away  from  all  entangling  alliances.  You  may 
be  surprised  to  find  how  easily,  with  a  little  practice, 
you  can  make  a  two-pound  trout  or  bass  tow  the 
canoe  the  way  you  want  it  to  go. 

In  floating  for  deer,  use  the  double-blade  only  in 
making  the  passage  to  the  ground;  then  take  it  apart 
and  lay  it  inboard,  using  only  the  little  paddle  to 
float  with,  tying  it  to  a  rib  with  a  yard  and  a  half 
of  linen  line.  On  approaching  a  deer  near  enough  to 
shoot,  let  go  the  paddle,  leaving  it  to  drift  alongside 
while  you  attend  to  venison. 


138  WOODCRAFT 


Beneath  a  hemlock  grim  and  dark, 

Where  shrub  and  vine  are  intertwining, 
Our  shanty  stands,  well  roofed  with  bark, 

On  which  the  cheerful  blaze  is  shining. 
The  smoke  ascends  in  spiral  wreath, 

With  upward  curve  the  sparks  are  trending; 
The  coffee  kettle  sings  beneath 

Where  sparks  and  smoke  with  leaves  are  blending. 

And  on  the  stream  a  light  canoe 

Floats  like  a  freshly  fallen  feather, 
A  fairy  thing,  that  will  not  do 

For   broader   seas  and  stormy   weather. 
Her  sides  no  thicker  than  the  shell 

Of  Ole  Bull's  Cremona  fiddle, 
The  man  who  rides  her  will  do  well 

To  part  his  scalp-lock  in  the  middle. 

— "Forest  Runes" — Nessmuk. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ODDS    AND    ENDS. — WHERE    TO    GO    FOR    AN    OUTING. — WHY    A 
CLINKER? — BOUGHS     AND     BROWSE. 


HE  oft-recurring  question  as  to  where 
to  go  for  the  outing,  can  hardly  be 
answered  at  all  satisfactorily.  In  a 
general  way,  any  place  may,  and  ought 
to  be,  satisfactory,  where  there  are 
fresh  green  woods,  pleasant  scenery, 
and  fish  and  game  plenty  enough  to 
supply  the  camp  abundantly,  with  boat- 
ing facilities  and  pure  water. 

"It's  more  in  the  man  than  it  is  in 
the  land,"  and  there  are  thousands  of  such  places  on 
the  waters  of  the  Susquehanna,  the  Delaware,  the 
rivers  and  lakes  of  Maine,  Michigan,  Wisconsin,  and 
Canada. 

Among  the  lakes  of  Central  New  York  one  may 
easily  select  a  camping  ground,  healthy,  pleasant, 
easily  reached,  and  with  the  advantage  of  cheapness. 
A  little  too  much  civilization,  perhaps;  but  the  far- 
mers are  friendly,  and  kindly  disposed  to  all  summer 
outers  who  behave  like  gentlemen. 

For  fine  forest  scenery  and  unequaled  canoeing 
facilities,    it   must   be   admitted   that   the    Adirondack 

(  13»  ' 


140  WOODCRAFT 

region  stands  at  the  head.  There  is  also  fine  fishing 
and  good  hunting,  for  those  who  know  the  right 
places  to  go  for  deer  and  trout.  But  it  is  a  tedious, 
expensive  job  getting  into  the  heart  of  the  Wilderness, 
and  it  is  the  most  costly  woodland  resort  I  know  of 
when  you  are  there.  Without  a  guide  you  will  be 
likely  to  see  very  little  sport,  and  the  guide's  wage  is 
$3  per  day  and  board,  the  latter  ranging  from  $1  to  $2 
per  day;  and  your  own  bills  at  the  forest  hotels  will 
run  from  $2  to  $4  per  day.  At  the  Prospect  House, 
Blue  Mountain  Lake,  they  will  charge  you  $25  per 
week,  and  your  guide  half  price.  On  the  whole,  if 
you  hire  a  guide  and  make  the  tour  of  the  Northern 
Wilderness  as  a  "gentleman,"  you  will  do  well  to  get 
off  for  $50  per  week.  You  can  reduce  this  nearly 
one-half  and  have  much  better  sport,  by  going  into 
camp  at  once,  and  staying  there.  The  better  way  is 
for  two  men  to  hire  a  guide,  live  in  camp  altogether, 
and  divide  the  expense.  In  this  way  it  is  easy  to 
bring  the  weekly  expense  within  $15  each;  and  if  one 
can  afford  it,  the  money  will  be  well  spent. 

All  along  the  Allegheny  range,  from  Maine  to  Mich- 
igan, and  from  Pennsylvania  to  the  Provinces,  num- 
berless resorts  exist  as  pleasant,  as  healthy,  as  prolific 
of  sport,  as  the  famed  Adirondacks,  and  at  half  the 
cost.  But,  for  an  all-summer  canoe  cruise,  with  more 
than  600  accessible  lakes  and  ponds,  the  Northern 
Wilderness  stands  alone.  And,  as  a  wealthy  cockney 
once  remarked  to  me  in  Brown's  Tract,  "It's  no  place 
for  a  poor  man." 

And  now  I  will  give  my  reasons  for  preferring  the 
clinker-built  cedar  boat,  or  canoe,  to  any  other.     First, 


WHAT  IT  COSTS  141 

as  to  material.  Cedar  is  stronger,  more  elastic,  more 
enduring,  and  shrinks  less  than  pine  or  any  other 
light  wood  used  as  boat  siding.  As  one  of  the  best 
builders  in  the  country  says,  "It  has  been  thoroughly 
demonstrated  that  a  cedar  canoe  will  stand  more 
hard  knocks  than  an  oak  one;  for  where  it  only  re- 
ceives bruises,  the  oak  streaks  will  split."  And  he 
might  add,  the  pine  will  break.  But  I  suppose  it  is 
settled  beyond  dispute  that  white  cedar  stands  at  the 
head  for  boat  streaks.  I  prefer  it,  then,  because  it  is 
the  best.  And  I  prefer  the  clinker,  because  it  is  the 
strongest,  simplest,  most  enduring,  and  most  easily 
repaired  in  case  of  accident.  To  prove  the  strength 
theory,  take  a  cedar  (or  pine)  strip  eight  feet  long  and 
six  inches  wide.  Bend  it  to  a  certain  point  by  an 
equal  strain  on  each  end,  and  carefully  note  the  re- 
sult. Next  strip  it  lengthwise  with  the  rip  saw,  lap 
the  two  halves  an  inch,  and  nail  the  lap  as  in  boat 
building.  Test  it  again,  and  you  will  find  it  has 
gained  in  strength  about  twenty  per  cent.  That  is 
the  clinker  of  it. 

Now  work  the  laps  down  until  the  strip  is  of  uni- 
form thickness  its  entire  length,  and  test  it  once  more; 
you  will  find  it  much  weaker  than  on  first  trial.  That 
is  the  smooth  skin,  sometimes  called  lapstreak. 
They,  the  clinker  canoes,  are  easily  tightened  when 
they  spring  a  leak  through  being  rattled  over  stones 
in  rapids.  It  is  only  to  hunt  a  smooth  pebble  for  a 
clinch  head,  and  settle  the  nails  that  have  started 
with  the  hatchet,  putting  in  a  few  new  ones  if  needed. 
And  they  are  put  together,  at  least  by  the  best  build- 
ers,  without  any  cement  or  white  lead,   naked   wood 


142  WOODCRAFT 

to  wood,  and  depending  only  on  close  work  for  water- 
proofing. And  each  pair  of  strips  is  cut  to  fit  and 
lie  in  its  proper  place  without  strain,  no  two  pairs 
being  alike,  but  each  pair,  from  garboards  to  upper 
streak,  having  easy,  natural  form  for  its  destined 
position. 

The  veneered  canoes  are  very  fine,  for  deep  water; 
but  a  few  cuts  on  sharp  stones  will  be  found  ruinous; 
and  if  exposed  much  to  weather  they  are  liable  to 
warp.  The  builders  understand  this,  and  plainly  say 
that  they  prefer  not  to  build  fine  boats  for  those  who 
will  neglect  the  proper  care  of  them. 

The  paper  boat,  also,  will  not  stand  much  cutting 
on  sharp  stones,  and  it  is  not  buoyant  when  swamped, 
unless  fitted  with  water-tight  compartments,  which  I 
abhor. 

The  canvas  is  rather  a  logy,  limp  sort  of  craft,  to 
my  thinking,  and  liable  to  drown  her  crew  if 
swamped. 

But  each  and  all  have  their  admirers,  and  pur- 
chasers as  well,  while  each  is  good  in  its  way,  and  I 
only  mention  a  few  reasons  for  my  preference  of  the 
cedar. 

When  running  an  ugly  rapid  or  crossing  a  stormy 
lake,  I  like  to  feel  that  I  have  enough  light,  seasoned 
wood  under  me  to  keep  my  mouth  and  nose  above 
water  all  day,  besides  saving  the  rifle  and  knapsack, 
which,  when  running  into  danger,  I  always  tie  to  the 
ribbing  with  strong  linen  line,  as  I  do  the  paddle 
also,  giving  it  about  line  enough  to  just  allow  free 
play. 
I   am   not — to   use  a   little   modern   slang — going  to 


VARIOUS  CRAFT  143 

"give  myself  away"  on  canoeing,  or  talk  of  startling 
adventure.  But,  for  the  possible  advantage  of  some 
future  canoeist,  I  will  briefly  relate  what  happened 
to  me  on  a  certain  windy  morning  one  summer.  It  was 
on  one  of  the  larger  lakes — no  matter  which — be- 
tween Paul  Smith's  and  the  Fulton  Chain.  I  had 
camped  over  night  in  a  spot  that  did  not  suit  me  in 
the  least,  but  it  seemed  the  best  I  could  do  then  and 
there.  The  night  was  rough,  and  the  early  morning 
threatening.  However,  I  managed  a  cup  of  coffee, 
"tied  in,"  and  made  a  slippery  carry  of  two  miles  a 
little  after  sunrise.  Arrived  on  the  shore  of  the  lake, 
things  did  not  look  promising.  The  whirling,  twirl- 
ing clouds  were  black  and  dangerous  looking,  the 
crisp,  dark  waves  were  crested  with  spume,  and  I  had 
a  notion  of  just  making  a  comfortable  camp  and 
waiting  for  better  weather.  But  the  commissary  de- 
partment was  reduced  to  six  Boston  crackers,  with  a 
single  slice  of  pork,  and  it  was  twelve  miles  of  wil- 
derness to  the  nearest  point  of  supplies,  four  miles 
of  it  carries,  included.  Such  weather  might  last  a 
week,  and  I  decided  to  go.  For  half  an  hour  I  sat 
on  the  beach,  taking  weather  notes.  The  wind  was 
northeast;  my  course  was  due  west,  giving  me  four 
point  free.  Taking  five  feet  of  strong  line,  I  tied 
one  end  under  a  rib  next  the  keelson,  and  the  other 
around  the  paddle.  Stripping  to  shirt  and  drawers, 
I  stowed  everything  in  the  knapsack,  and  tied  that 
safely  in  the  fore  peak.  Then  I  swung  out.  Before 
I  was  a  half  mile  out,  I  fervently  wished  myself  back. 
But  it  was  too  late.  How  that  little,  corky,  light 
canoe  did  bound  and  snap,  with   a  constant  tendency 


144  WOODCRAFT 

to  come  up  in  the  wind's  eye,  that  kept  me  on  the 
qui  vive  every  instant.  She  shipped  no  water;  she 
was  too  buoyant  for  that.  But  she  was  all  the  time 
in  danger  of  pitching  her  crew  overboard.  It  soon 
came  to  a  crisis.  About  the  middle  of  the  lake,  on 
the  north  side,  there  is  a  sharp,  low  gulch  that  runs 
away  back  through  the  hills,  looking  like  a  level  cut 
through  a  railroad  embankment.  And  down  this 
gulch  came  a  fierce  thunder  gust  that  was  like  a  small 
cyclone.  It  knocked  down  trees,  swept  over  the 
lake,  and — caught  the  little  canoe  on  the  crest  of  a 
wave,  right  under  the  garboard  streak.  I  went  over- 
board like  a  shot;  but  I  kept  my  grip  on  the  paddle. 
That  grip  was  worth  a  thousand  dollars  to  the 
"Travelers  Accidental";  and  another  thousand  to 
the  "Equitable  Company,"  because  the  paddle,  with 
its  line,  enabled  me  to  keep  the  canoe  in  hand,  and 
prevent  her  from  going  away  to  leeward  like  a  dry 
leaf.  When  I  once  got  my  nose  above  water,  and 
my  hand  on  her  after  stem,  I  knew  I  had  the  whole 
business  under  control.  Pressing  the  stem  down,  I 
took  a  look  inboard.  The  little  jilt!  She  had  not 
shipped  a  quart  of  water.  And  there  was  the  knap- 
sack, the  rod,  the  little  auxiliary  paddle,  all  just  as  I 
had  tied  them  in;  only  the  crew  and  the  double-blade 
had  gone  overboard.  As  I  am  elderly  and  out  of 
practice  in  the  swimming  line,  and  it  was  nearly  half 
a  mile  to  a  lee  shore,  and,  as  I  was  out  of  breath  and 
water-logged,  it  is  quite  possible  that  a  little  fore- 
thought and  four  cents'  worth  of  fishline  saved — the 
insurance  companies  two  thousand  dollars. 
How   I   slowly  kicked   that  canoe  ashore;     how  the 


OVERBOARD  145 

sun  came  out  bright  and  hot;  how,  instead  of  making 
the  remaining  eleven  miles,  I  raised  a  conflagration 
and  a  comfortable  camp,  dried  out,  and  had  a  pleas- 
ant night  of  it;  all  this  is  neither  here  nor  there. 
The  point  I  wish  to  make  is,  keep  your  duffle  safe  to 
float,  and  your  paddle  and  canoe  sufficiently  in  hand 
to  always  hold  your  breathing  works  above  water 
level.  So  shall  your  children  look  confidently  for 
your  safe  return,  while  the  "Accidentals"  arise  and 
call  you  a  good  investment. 

There  is  only  one  objection  to  the  clinker-built 
canoe  that  occurs  to  me  as  at  all  plausible.  This  is, 
that  the  ridge-like  projections  of  her  clinker  laps 
offer  resistance  to  the  water,  and  retard  her  speed. 
Theoretically,  this  is  correct.  Practically,  it  is  not 
proven.  Her  streaks  are  so  nearly  on  her  water 
line  that  the  resistance,  if  any,  must  be  infinitesimal. 
It  is  possible,  however,  that  this  element  might  lessen 
her  speed  one  or  two  minutes  in  a  mile  race.  I  am 
not  racing,  but  taking  leisurely  recreation.  I  can 
wait  two  or  three  minutes  as  well  as  not.  Three  or 
four  knots  an  hour  will  take  me  through  to  the  last 
carry  quite  as  soon  as  I  care  to  make  the  landing. 

A  few  words  of  explanation  and  advice  may  not 
be  out  of  place.  I  have  used  the  words  "boughs" 
and  "browse"  quite  frequently.  I  am  sorry  they  are 
not  more  in  use.  The  first  settlers  in  the  unbroken 
forest  knew  how  to  diagnose  a  tree.  They  came  to 
the  "Holland  Purchase"  from  the  Eastern  States, 
with  their  families,  in  a  covered  wagon,  drawn  by  a 
yoke  of  oxen,  and  the  favorite  cow  patiently  leading 
behind.     They   could    not  start   until    the   ground   was 


146  WOODCRAFT 

settled,  some  time  in  May,  and  nothing  could  be  done 
in  late  summer,  save  to  erect  a  log  cabin,  and  clear  a 
few  acres  for  the  next  season.  To  this  end  the  oxen 
were  indispensable,  and  a  cow  was  of  first  necessity, 
where  there  were  children.  And  cows  and  oxen 
must  have  hay.  But  there  was  not  a  ton  of  hay  in 
the  country.  A  few  hundred  pounds  of  coarse  wild 
grass  was  gleaned  from  the  margins  of  streams  and 
small  marshes;  but  the  main  reliance  was  "browse." 
Through  the  warm  months  the  cattle  could  take  care 
of  themselves;  but,  when  winter  settled  down  in 
earnest,  a  large  part  of  the  settler's  work  consisted 
in  providing  browse  for  his  cattle.  First  and  best 
was  the  basswood  (linden);  then  came  maple,  beech, 
birch  and  hemlock.  Some  of  the  trees  would  be 
nearly  three  feet  in  diameter,  and,  when  felled,  much 
of  the  browse  would  be  twenty  feet  above  the  reach 
of  cattle,  on  the  ends  of  huge  limbs.  Then  the 
boughs  were  lopped  off,  and  the  cattle  could  get  at 
the  browse.  The  settlers  divided  the  tree  into  log, 
limbs,  boughs,  and  browse.  Anything  small  enough 
for  a  cow  or  deer  to  masticate  was  browse.  And 
that  is  just  what  you  want  for  a  camp  in  the  forest. 
Not  twigs,  that  may  come  from  a  thorn,  or  boughs, 
that  may  be  as  thick  as  your  wrist,  but  browse,  which 
may  be  used  for  a  mattress,  the  healthiest  in  the 
world. 

And  now  for  a  little  useless  advice.  In  going  into 
the  woods,  don't  take  a  medicine  chest  or  a  set  of 
surgical  instruments  with  you.  A  bit  of  sticking 
salve,  a  wooden  vial  of  anti  pain  tablets  and  another 
of  rhubarb  regulars,  your  fly  medicine,  and  a  pair  of 


BROWSE  147 

tweezers,  will  be  enough.  Of  course  you  have  needles 
and  thread. 

If  you  go  before  the  open  season  for  shooting, 
take  no  gun.  It  will  simply  be  a  useless  incumbrance 
and  a  nuisance. 

If  you  go  to  hunt,  take  a  solemn  oath  never  to 
point  the  shooting  end  of  your  gun  toward  yourself 
or  any  other  human  being. 

In  still-hunting,  swear  yourself  black  in  the  face 
never  to  shoot  at  a  dim,  moving  object  in  the  woods 
for  a  deer,  unless  you  have  seen  that  it  is  a  deer.  In 
these  days  there  are  quite  as  many  hunters  as  deer  in 
the  woods;  and  it  is  a  heavy,  wearisome  job  to  pack 
a  dead  or  wounded  man  ten  or  twelve  miles  out  to  a 
clearing,  let  alone  that  it  spoils  all  the  pleasure  of 
the  hunt,  and  is  apt  to  raise  hard  feelings  among  his 
relations. 

In  a  word,  act  coolly  and  rationally.  So  ishall 
your  outing  be  a  delight  in  conception  and  the  ful- 
fillment thereof;  while  the  memory  of  it  shall  come 
back  to  you  in  pleasant  dreams,  when  legs  and  shoul- 
ders are  too  stiff  and  old  for  knapsack  and  rifle. 

That  is  me.  That  is  why  I  sit  here  to-night — 
with  the  north  wind  and  sleet  rattling  the  one  win- 
dow of  my  little  den — writing  what  I  hope  younger 
and  stronger  men  will  like  to  take  into  the  woods 
with  them,  and  read.  Not  that  I  am  so  very  old. 
The  youngsters  are  still  not  anxious  to  buck  against 
the  niuzzleloader  in  off-hand  shooting.  But,  in  com- 
mon with  a  thousand  other  old  graybeards,  I  feel 
that  the  fire,  the   fervor,  the  steel,  that  once  carried 


14^  WOODCRAFT 

me  over  the  trail  from  dawn  until  dark,  is  dulled  and 
deadened  within   me. 

We  had  our  day  of  youth  and  May; 

We   may  have   grown   a  trifle   sober; 
But  life  may  reach  a  wintry  way,  * 

And  we  are  only  in  October. 

Wherefore,  let  us  be  thankful  that  there  are  still 
thousands  of  cool,  green  nooks  beside  crystal  springs, 
where  the  weary  soul  may  hide  for  a  time,  away  from 
debts,  duns  and  deviltries,  and  a  while  commune  with 
nature  in  her  undress. 

And  with  kindness  to  all  true  woodsmen;  and  with 
malice  toward  none,  save  the  trout-hog,  the  netter, 
the  cruster,  and  skin-butcher,  let  us 

PREPARE  TO  TURN  IN. 


INDEX 


Adirondacks  region. 41,  140 

Angle-worms    70 

Axe    10,  12 

Bait,  pork  frog 59,  62 

Fish-belly    68 

Grubs    53 

"Worms   70 

Bait   fishing 53 

Barbs   on   hooks 58 

Baskets  (pack)    8 

Bear    123 

Beans   101 

Beds    74,  82 

Black  bass  bait 62,  69 

Black    flies 21 

Blanket  bag   6 

Boats    142 

Boots   5,  111 

Bread    92 

Brook  trout    52 

Broom  for  camp 75 

Browse     145 

Camps    25 

Indian  camp 26 

Brush  shanty 30 

Shanty  tent   31 

Tents    39 

Shed  roof   38 

Coal  cabin 36 

Camp-fires  .  ..40,  48,  85,  71 

Camp  stoves   40,  84 

Camp  cookery   73 

Camp  furniture 75 

Canvas  boats   142 


Canvas,  to  waterproof  31 

Canoes 131,  140,  142 

Nessmuk    133 

Susan  Nipper 134 

Sairy  Gamp   135 

Canoes,  weight  of 136 

Canoeing    128 

Canoe  seats    136 

Paddles    137 

Cleanliness  in  camp . .  78 

Clothing    4,  111 

Clinker  build  141 

Coal  cabin 36 

Condiments    Ill 

Cooking    71 

Cooking  receipts: 

Baked  beans 102 

Boiled  potatoes   98 

Bread    92,  93 

Brown  bread   103 

Canned  goods 109 

rinb  bread   94 

Coffee   94 

Ducks  106 

Fish    108 

Flapjack    92 

Fried  squirrel    105 

Grouse    106 

Johnny  cake 92 

Mudding  up   110 

Pan  cake 93 

Pigeons    105 

Porcupine    107 

Pork  and  beans 102 


(  149  ) 


150  INDEX 

Potatoes    98,99   Gnats    21 

Quail    106   Gut  snells  69 

Rabbit    108   Hat   5 

Roast  potatoes    99   Hatchet    10,12 

Ruffed  grouse   106  Headlight    67 

Soups    104   Hooks,  size  of  64 

Squirrel   105   Hooks,  kinds  of   60 

Stews    105   Hooks,  barbs   58 

Tea    98   Hunting  112 

Vegetables    99,101    Indian  camp 26 

Venison  steak   106    Insects    20,  21 

Venison  roast 107   Johnny  cake 92 

Woodcock    106   Knapsack    8 

Cooking  fires  71   Knives   ••• JJ 

Cooking  utensils 13   J^ke  tr°utL  ■  ■ ;  •  • ** 

Lapstreak  boats   141 

Deer    •••• 124    Large  fish    65,  69 

Duffle   4>  6   Lines    52 

Ditty-bag   16   Lost  in  W00ds  19 

Fires    (see   Camp   and  Mascalonge   61 

Cooking).  Mosquitoes    21 

Fire  woods  84   Mosquito  ointment 22 

Fishing    50    "Mudding   up"    110 

Fly-fishing   52,  57   Night  in  camp 28 

Bait  fishing   53    Night  fishing  57 

Fish-belly  bait 68   Overwork    1 

Fish,  cooking  of 108    Pack  baskets    8 

Flapjack    92   Paddles    137 

Flies    52    Paper  boats    142 

Flies,  list  of 53   Pests    20,  21 

Fly-fishing    52    Pickerel    61,  65 

Fly   pests    21   Pillows     25,  29,  136 

Fly  pest  varnish 22   Planning  outings   3 

Footgear 5,  112    Pocket  axe 10,  12 

Forests    45    Poker  and  tongs 75 

Forks    13    Preparations    7 

Frog-bait    59,  62   Pudding  sticks    137 

Frogging    17,  66    "Punkies"    21,  22 

Game  fish   64   Racine  boats   142 

Gang  hooks 59   Reels    52 

Getting  lost   19   Rifle    120 


INDEX  151 

Rods   15  Tinware     13 

"Roughing  it"   18   Tongs   76 

Snells   69  Trout    52 

Spring  holes   55,  57   Vacations    2 

Sparks    39  Vegetables    99,  101 

Swivels    69   Venison    106 

Shelter  cloth   6  Waterproofing   canvas     31 

Still-hunting    112  Winter  camps   45 

Stoves    40   Wire  snells 69 

Spoons  13  Williams,  "Pete" 113 

Shanty  tent   31  Wild  hog 121 

Tents    26,  31,  39   Worms  70 


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